The Choices That Make Us
by Anla'shok
Summary: Andromeda hid in books, Narcissa behind a mask of perfection. Bellatrix and Sirius didn't know how to hide. Three sisters who promised each other 'always', until their desire for freedom tore them apart. Two brothers who failed to understand each other until it was too late. The entwined tales of the five Black cousins. From the pre- 1st war era to after the second war.
1. A: The One Who Left First

**T rating for dysfunctional dynamics (including the elder Blacks' A-grade parenting) and violence. Canon couples (chapter 15 is rated M, you can blame Bellatrix), but romance isn't the main focus. **

**This fic aims to answer three main questions : Who are the Blacks (notably Andromeda, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Sirius and Regulus)? How did they become those people? How do the survivors fit in a world where Voldemort has been defeated and old dark families are forced to reckon with their prejudices?**

**I'm trying to stay faithful to canon ****(books & movies). The first Wizarding War and the years leading up to it are the main focus until chapter 20 or so, later we'll be into post- second war territory (where Harry becomes a major minor character). **

**It goes without saying : Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. **

* * *

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat bellowed after a few tense seconds.

It surprised no one, but Andromeda had been pleased to hear she had an uncommonly sharp mind. Nobody had seen as many minds as the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, after all.

The eldest of the Black sisters intended to live up to her heritage. Her parents would stop lamenting the family's glorious past. There would be no more reason to say that the Black family was not given its dues. Andromeda was not heir to the main line, but she was the eldest cousin, and Sirius looked up to her. Besides, he was too unruly and would need guidance. She would restore her family to its rightful place.

Her elders' words had shaped Andromeda's childhood. She came to Hogwarts believing purebloods were superior in magic. Then, forced to share classes with those of lesser blood, she could not observe any significant difference past first year between students of good and poor breeding. She did consider, that it might be a teacher or curriculum-induced bias, but upon further examination, that didn't hold up either.

She had spent her childhood convinced purebloods were superior in character, but she saw little as a teenager to suggest they distinguished themselves by their morals or work ethic. They _did_ distinguish themselves by their grasp of manners and their ability for conversation, although dignity was often an elastic concept that often depended on one's audience.

Mudbloods stood out because of their ignorance. They could be so shockingly crass. Some of them spoke an English so accented one would wonder if it was English at all. But mudbloods were only 15% of the student population, and a solid half of them left the wizarding world by the time they were twenty. None held positions of power. It was ridiculous to think they had much to do with the state of the wizarding world.

"What's _this_?" Bellatrix challenged, looming over Andromeda who'd been reading over her charms notes on the bottom bunk.

_Ah_. Andromeda stared at the book her thirteen-year-old sister was holding between two fingers, as if it was a fat rat's dead carcass.

"A novel, a rather good one too."

"Muggle!"

"Bella, there are, what, twenty thousand wizards and witches in the Isles? I'd read every half-decent story ever written by a witch or wizard by the time I was twelve. Muggles are counted in tens of millions in England alone. Some of them actually write decently."

"Truly, _muggles_?"

"What's the point of being superior, if it shackles us? I want to read a book. Nobody's going to tell me I can't read a book."

Bella smirked and threw _The_ _Princess Bride _on the bed. "Well said. Morgana's tits, I'm going insane here. Meda, let's duel, _please_? Nobody wants to duel me anymore. I might just decide I don't care about House points and hex them all."

"You almost maimed Malfoy, and that was with a Seventh Year supervising."

Bella bit her lip, her contrition unabashedly fake. "Narcissa was _looking_ at him. Hopefully I humiliated him badly enough that she won't look at him twice now." She rolled her eyes. "Of course _Cissy_ would be interested in boys... She's _twelve_. Give me a break."

"You scare them. A little diplomacy would go a long way."

"But I don't _want_ to be diplomatic, Meda! They're all so... flaccid. Happy to rattle off their ancestors five generations back, but scared to pick up their wands. They're so weak, it disgusts me."

Not weak. _Insecure_. Everybody had told them they were superior and now, confronted with real life and in the throes of adolescence, they didn't dare try too hard. After all, if they tried and failed, what would that make them? Slytherin house, more than any of the others, was poisoned by expectations.

Andromeda sat up and folded her hands in her lap. "What do you think would happen if Cissy and I dueled together against you?"

Bella considered it. "I'd lose," she admitted. "I mean, I can't risk killing you, can I ? I'd have to hold back..." A grin bloomed on her face. "Sounds fun. I'll go grab Cissy."

Andromeda smiled slightly as Bella bounced out of the room. A smile as worried as it was endeared. Anger clung to her sister's skin, as it often did these days. Bella felt trapped: classes were too slow, too tame. She was bored and shunned for being too intense.

Bella didn't mind getting sweaty or dirty. She been sneaking out to the grounds at 5 AM to run laps around the castle before classes ever since she'd read one's ability to harness the dark arts was improved by a good physical condition. That the other Slytherin didn't match her single-mindedness frustrated her. She'd decided that if she couldn't have their approval, she'd settle for their fear.

Bella was only in her third year, but Andromeda didn't doubt that in two years' time, no one would dare deny her anything. On some level, it scared Andromeda. On the other, she understood.

Slytherin was supposed to house the greatest wizards yet the great majority wasted their time with petty gossip they self-importantly called 'house politics'. Less than half read outside the coursework (except for a few N.E.W.T level curses for bragging points), and fewer still bothered to craft their own spells. And outside of Slytherin, the Black sisters were to be avoided at all costs.

Bellatrix thought it was because of her unabashed fascination with dark arts, and because the others were lesser people anyway. Andromeda figured it had more to do with her parents, and just about every living adult Black, being nasty people.

But it had taken her a long time just to admit it to herself.

Muggle books had changed her. How could she consider them less _people_ after she'd lived so many adventures with them? How could she not see the parallels between the world she lived in and the heroes and heroins who'd faced prejudice because of the circumstances of their birth ?

Oh lack of magic made a mountain of the silliest things, their technologies were confusing, and their women were irritatingly weak (or absent), but the way they felt and related to each other? Andromeda struggled more and more to see the difference.

With her eyes open, the world wasn't any nicer. She could now see that her family was dysfunctional. A place of neglect where children were supposed to fit nicely into molds, by force if necessary. Andromeda was stuck in a small town where everybody knew everybody and small mindedness ruled supreme, except there was no wider world to run off to.

Narcissa didn't look thrilled as Bellatrix dragged her in. "If I'm dueling, I want to test my new spell on you."

"What is it, another hair charm ?" Bella asked, her black curls pinned precariously on the top of her head.

Narcissa, and her perfectly straight blonde hair, ignored the barb and magically shut the dorm door.

"It's a blood ritual that prevents you from cursing people of your own blood."

Even Bellatrix stared at that.

"Why?" Andromeda whispered.

"Cousin Sirius."

"Oh he's such an idiot," Bella spat, "talking back like that, in _public_, before he even has a wand of his own."

_Eight years old_, his mouth spelled shut for two days until he was almost unconscious from water loss.

"Oh, I agree," Narcissa said, "but I never want to find myself in that position."

Blood magic. Andromeda couldn't stop a shiver. Not that she hadn't dabbled, but when she'd read that dark arts changed you, she'd _paid attention_.

"You're their favorite, Cissy," Bella huffed. "What are _you_ afraid of?"

Narcissa smiled with perfect sweetness. "You, maybe. Maybe I just want to give myself the freedom to tell everyone to... fu...uh... _eff off_."

Bella's faux gasp and twelve-year-old Cissy stumbling on the curse word brought a treacherous smile on Andromeda's lips. It withered at the thought of her baby sister using blood magic.

"What emotion are you powering it with?"

Narcissa blinked. She had always been too poised for a child but Andromeda knew her well. This was Narcissa struggling not to drop her gaze. "I was thinking fear."

_Morgana, no._ "Cissy, you'll make yourself a terrified person. We... How far along are you?"

Narcissa took a slow breath. "I'm flattered, Sisters. I'm... I'm at the beginning," she finally admitted. "I've read up a little."

Andromeda's knees almost gave away in sheer relief. "Very well, then let's craft this spell together. Life's hard enough without worrying about being hexed by family."

Bellatrix nodded with a growing smirk. "With a spell like that... I wouldn't have to hold back during duels now, would I ?"

"Well, there's your motivation," Andromeda said with a knowing smile.

"Do you think we could later get our spouses protected too?" Narcissa wondered. "Would that need a second ritual, Meda?"

"Cissy, I'm going to _castrate_ Malfoy."

"Who? Oh, that guy. _Why_?"

Bella frowned, doubt entering her eyes. Narcissa's confusion and indifference looked absolutely genuine.

Andromeda laughed.

* * *

"Hope," Andromeda decided after all too many sleepless nights poring over protective spells, wards and rituals. "We use _hope. _For this family, for _us_."

It was a look of rare vulnerability that Bella and Cissy shared with her that night.

"We're stronger together," Narcissa acknowledged in a whisper.

Bella didn't whisper. "We _must_ stay together," she said fiercely. "Always."

"Always." Andromeda promised, unaware she would be the first to betray them.

In the Order of the Phoenix and among Death Eaters, they all wondered, years later, why Bellatrix never went personally after Andromeda. Years later still, Tonks also wondered, why Bellatrix's spells never seemed to hit her quite as hard as they should have. That close-range blasting curse in the Department of Mysteries shouldn't have just have knocked her unconscious. It should have broken her spine.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Andromeda was caught sneaking into the muggle section of the Hogwarts' library. It was a Saturday morning, barely six AM and still pitch dark outside.

Reading _The Great Gatsby_ had been a weird experience for someone who'd so long thought _muggles_ were a homogeneous social class of their own. One more book adding to Andromeda's unease but also helping her untangle her own upbringing.

Rustling of robes had her freeze. Her disillusionment charm fell apart before she thought to cast a _Protego. _Before her, a pudgy Ravenclaw seventh year, _Edward Tonks_, stared at her wide-eyed.

"Black! Wow, talk about a teenage rebellion. You've actually been reading these?"

Andromeda stared back flatly. "Why do _you_ need to sneak in here?" She may have been one year younger, but she didn't doubt she'd out-duel him blindfolded and silenced.

"I don't want to be caught reading erotica."

Her lips twitched. "I must've read a very different Jane Austen than you have, then."

He bowed his head to concede her point, and slid _Sense and Sensibility_ back to its rightful place with obvious forced calm. "Am I the first muggleborn you've ever had a conversation with?"

Andromeda blinked. A furious blush colored her cheeks because, _Morgana, he actually was right_. Two years of rethinking everything she'd been taught and it actually hadn't crossed her mind to actually go _talk_ to a mud- muggleborn.

"You know," he added thoughtfully, "not all English magicals go to Hogwarts, only about a third. The wealthiest and most pure."

"Yes. Your point?"

"_All_ muggleborn go to Hogwarts, the landed gentry and the kids of jobless single moms. I almost died when people couldn't shut up about Crabbe being ruined because his parents had to sell their manor and settle for a _three-storey house_. » He took a sharp breath. "The magicals not good enough for Hogwarts hate muggleborn because they 'steal the spots that should go to real witches and wizards'. Which, as Hogwarts is big enough to house triple the students it does, makes me think all this is done so that everyone keeps hating on muggleborn instead of looking upwards."

Andromeda frowned. She took a few seconds to process his words and decided she agreed with them. Hogwards _could_ house all wizarding children from the Isles. Although why Tonks was making such a speech to _her- _"Are you trying to upset me?"

"Maybe. Abusing you for all the injustice in this world sounds cathartic, but maybe this was my awkward way of asking if you wanted a book recommendation."

Andromeda's lips twitched. Her smiled died. She wasn't in the mood for joking.

"I won't tell we spoke," Tonks said, uneasy now. It looked like... compassion. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and sighed. "I... I just wish it wasn't so hard for people like me, you know? I don't know why you make it so hard."

Andromeda had a theory by now. "There no spell that gives you power or status. You need people to give you that, else you take it. Magic or no, people are the same. We're like a small town. Everyone's up in your business all the time, something's recent if it happened in the last century and we don't like outsiders."

"Ha. Too right. But you're a princess and I'm nobody."

"You'd trade your parents for mine?"

"I... I actually have no idea how your parents treat you." He had to have heard how they treated _others_. "But I guess you wouldn't ask unless the obvious answer was _no_. Although waiting until they're eleven to tell a kid they're magical is a swell way to destroy both kid and family."

Andromeda crossed her arms. "Why?" Another thing she'd never thought to think about.

"Because I terrified myself, and my parents. We didn't understand it. And culturally, for muggles, magic isn't great. _Devilish_ some might say. My parents could have turned abusive. It wasn't _that_ bad. But I talk of the weather when I write my monthly letters." He shook his head bitterly. "What if you had been a muggle? A squib I mean."

_Easy_. "I'd be dead. Hopefully _painlessly_ murdered." Her mind flashed unhelpfully to the ghastly beheaded house-elves on Aunt Walburga's shelves. Marcus' parents had been progressive, as Blacks went. His squibness had been hidden until he'd been old enough for Hogwarts, then he'd been given a bag of gold and sent to a French school for squibs. He'd never set foot back in England.

"Shit. Not even smuggled for adoption to a nice muggle couple? Isn't that how muggleborn happen?" His words were joking but his voice was hollow.

Andromeda stared. Tonks flinched at her cruel smile. "No," she said softly. "Mud- muggleborn steal magic from respectable people. _Everyone_ knows that." She dropped the act and took a deep breath. "Now I'm curious to have the goblins test your blood... The Blacks drown their squibs, but perhaps there's hope for the Greengrasses or the Longbottoms."

"Well, I've got my apparition licence. If you trust me not to splinch you, we could sneak to Gringotts next Hogsmeade weekend."

It'd take a bit of managing of her sisters, but she had a whole week to find a suitable excuse. It'd be enough time to practice her glamours. No one could be allowed to recognize her in Diagon Alley. "Very well."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Bella and Cissy know what I read, but they treat it like..." her lips quirked, "erotica. They consider it a guilty pleasure of mine. I'd be happy to have conversations about everything absurd about traditionalist beliefs with someone other than myself." _Wow. She'd actually said that out loud. _She took a deep breath. "But I'm also going to ask for a vow of silence."

Tonks took a half-step back. "Like honest-to-God dark arts secrecy vow?"

"That's _barely_ dark arts," Andromeda huffed. "It's powered by intention not emotions."

"So dark's just using emotions ? Wouldn't that make a Patronus dark ?"

_What. a. muggle._ "No. A patronus needs you to be focused entirely on a happy event to be corporeal, but it's not _powered_ by happiness. That would drain the memory used, require you to make use of a different one each casting. Happiness, that feeling that in a given moment everything is _right_, is not easily renewable like anger, curiosity, fear or hope can be."

"That's not in the school books..."

A small laugh built in Andromeda's chest. "It wouldn't be. Have you invented any spells?"

Tonks stared. "Uh... _No_, there's enough to learn as it is... I- Where would I even begin?"

"Hasn't silent casting taught you it's all about intent? Words and gestures are to guide the brain, to the reduce the required concentration. The magic isn't in the latin words."

"Oh." Now Tonks looked annoyed at himself. He frowned, eyes lighting up. "Say, Andromeda, has any wizard ever gone to the moon?"

_Huh_. Andromeda's face broke into a broad smile. "Now _that's_ a worthy project. But first, that vow ?"

"Fine, but only if it doesn't hurt."

To be honest, she wasn't sure she was in love with Edward, _Ted_, when they eloped less than two years later, a few months after her Hogwarts graduation. Despite all the muggle novels she'd read, she wasn't convinced love had to be there. He was intelligent, fun, loved magic as much as she did, and he didn't play games with her. The lack of fear, the ease with which they could be themselves, the great sex... it was already so much more than Andromeda would have thought possible. She wasn't sure _he_ loved _her_, love-starved as he had been since his parents had pulled back from him after a particularly tragic bout of accidental magic. At six, Ted had made the wall between his parents' bedroom and his own vanish after a bad nightmare, and the roof, with nothing to rest on, had collapsed. The dog had died crushed. His father had almost lost a leg. Ted's letter finally gave them an explanation, but the fear was too rooted by then, the relationships too damaged.

But years later, Andromeda and Ted were sure. They had made it work. They opened a small practice, where people asked what they needed, and together, Ted and Andromeda crafted spells. People came, not enough to be rich, but enough to get by. For the rest, they had magic. Andromeda had no qualms about charming the cash dispensers and spending the money the muggle way. There was no compare between the fashion options in muggle London and the dozen shops scattered across the wizarding Isles.

_And yes, Cissy, it shields spouses._ Her family could disown her, but they couldn't change the essence of her magic, or stop her from holding a blood-adoption ritual. The kind that was used to recognize life debts owed to one of lesser blood, and elevate them to the status of family.

_"Couldn't everyone be technically made pureblood then?" _Ted had pointed out.

_"Technically. But no traditionalist would ever want _that_. And the ritual is a drain: I could maybe cast it one more time, but I could never bind myself to three."_

* * *

By choosing freedom, and Ted, Andromeda lost her sisters. She'd written a few letters. The tracing spells revealed that Narcissa had read them and that Bellatrix had burned all but the first unread. She only got an answer once. From Narcissa. A picture of baby Draco giggling in the camera and a single eloquent sentence. _I'm raising him a Malfoy. _The only acknowledgment Andromeda would get from her that the Black family had been a toxic mess.

Her one true regret was not having spent more time with Sirius. He'd been a first year when she'd turned her back on her family. Andromeda had been thrilled to receive a letter from Dorea Potter, James' mother, once a Black. To learn other people were keeping an eye on him. He'd been adopted by the Potters after his fifth year, and Andromeda had been certain this was a bond that couldn't be broken. Of course, there were ways to break people, torture and mind arts, but those did not make a man guilty. There had been no trial, only Dumbledore's word, and Andromeda desperately wished to _know_. She made an inquiry, for visits. They were quick to tell her _no_, and that _didn't it look bad, for the sister of Bellatrix Black, to ask after Death Eaters? _

She asked Dumbledore personally, and Dumbledore had looked at her with eyes that had seen too many horrors.

"Mrs Tonks, I'm really sorry, and I understand, but I'm using every favor I can, every bit of influence, to get the people who followed Voldemort in Azkaban, or at least out of positions of power. Azkaban is under lock-down. We can't risk a rescue operation freeing Death Eaters."

_Like your sister Bella. _Her anger swallowed up in dark arts until they ate her mind and all that had been good about her.

"On a happier note, your daughter will be admitted to Hogwarts. I've made sure of it."

Andromeda stared, suddenly speechless. _She'd expected -. _Muggleborn were all admitted, but children with two muggleborn parents were treated the same as lowly wizarding citizen, and with her being disowned-

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I can't make the world fair, but this I can do."

Tears stung Andromeda's eyes. She hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge how much this had mattered, not until now. "_Thank you_, Headmaster."

Tonks grew up thinking her mother was cold. She didn't realize that Andromeda had no clue how to be a mother. It wasn't as simple as doing the opposite in everything of whatever Andromeda's parents had done. Tonks never noticed how her mother watched her father, trying to learn from Ted, desperate to not mess it up.

Tonks suspected that Andromeda had never wanted to be a mother. She was right. The idea had terrified her but her husband had wanted a child so badly, so she had decided to be brave.

She had sometimes regretted it at first, swallowed by anxiety, but by the time Nymphadora was toddling around, cheerfully singing songs to herself, it was just a bad memory. Her clumsy metamorphmagus. Her pain-in-the-ass Hufflepuff daughter. The incredible young woman who Mad Eye Moody himself had chosen to mentor.

Now all Andromeda had was Teddy. But she had had time to learn.

That little boy would be mothered to death.

* * *

**Hello, Readers ! **

**So this story is a series of chapters centered on the Black sisters, Sirius and Regulus. The chapters won't all be standalone (actually, this is one of the few that is), think of them more like episodes that will grow more and more entwined as we bring in more perspectives. The idea is to reveal the layers to all these wonderful characters.**


	2. S: Of Dogs and Motorcycles

**Thank you guests for your reviews last chapter, it means a lot to me. I appreciate the favs and alerts too^^. **

* * *

**1968 - Sirius, 8 years old**.

Regulus ran through the carpeted candle-lit corridor, under the somewhat endeared, somewhat disapproving, stares of a dozen nineteenth century Black ancestors.

"Mummy! It's not as good as a house elf of course, but this thing is doing what I order. Look, _jump_!"

Walburga Black, in a rare mood for reading, turned away from the pile of family heirlooms whose exact importance she was trying to determine, and gazed upon her youngest.

"Regulus, what? Oh, my dear, is that - ?" Walburga clapped her hands together and smiled, a rare sight. "Reggie! Did you make your very own inferi?"

Sirius, who'd come to investigate what all the commotion was about, stared in dismay. A patchy rabbit, its fur falling in clumps, and its eyes well on their way to being fly-eaten holes, was cartwheeling through the library.

Disgusting. Mother was ecstatic of course. _Reggie_ could do no wrong.

"Sirius, Sirius, look what I made for Mummy!"

Sirius scowled. "So not a squib after all... Congratulations."

Regulus' face fell. His lips trembled slightly, his eyes growing wet. Sirius felt a pang of... something, but immediately his six-years-old brother had turned back to Mother. "Mummy, can you spell the rabbit cleaner so maybe I can make it of some use?" _Ever the suck up_.

"Darling, inferi don't last. The magic used to animate them destroys their body. Don't worry, I'm very proud of you."

Regulus preened like he had just been made Minister of Magic.

Sirius pulled a face. "He should use his powerful dark magic to get rid of the dead rabbit pieces he littered all over the house. They stink."

"So jealous, Sirius," Mother's voice was teasing, her mouth a sneer now. Everything Sirius hated."Be more like your brother, and you'll have nothing to be jealous of."

Sirius scowled and strode angrily to his bedroom. Not that the room felt properly _his_. It was large, too large, too empty, stone walls decorated with tapestries illustrating scenes of the Noble and Ancient House of Black's greatness. Father thought it was proof that, deep down, Sirius cared about becoming Lord.

The truth was, Sirius didn't dare decorate it _his_ way. It would have given Mother and Father something to take away.

_Be more like your brother._ Tear-eyed Regulus who'd run up to Mother blubbering _I love you_, acting like a house elf to do his parent's every bidding and living for their approving nods. _Wasn't Sirius to be Lord Black ? Who wanted a Lord to behave like a House Elf? _

They didn't like it when Sirius was defiant. Sirius couldn't help it. He just... He _existed_. _What was the point if he had to erase himself? A Lord made people adapt to him. Nobody told them what to be !_

His bedroom window opened on a shaded, narrow beaten earth path between the house and the neighbors'. Like this, the two houses looked pretty much the same. Nobody would have guessed they belonged to two very different worlds. The Black's historical mansion didn't have grounds like most of their parents' friends'. Mother wasn't thrilled about this state of affairs, or the fact the neighborhood was muggle. Father had once said it was_ convenient at times to have access to muggles_, but Sirius didn't understand what that meant. He didn't bother ask. He could never tell which question of his would cause his parents to sneer or shout at him.

Impulsively, Sirius climbed over the window rail and jumped out.

He had never explored the neighborhood. Silly, considering he lived there. His Rosier cousins had explored all fifteen square miles of their property, and they were younger than he was.

Gingerly, he walk-crouched out of the path and into Grimmauld Place. He only dared stand when he was out of the house's sight. Exhilarated he walked out into the street, a calm asphalted two-way lined with lamp-posts and the occasional tree. The sidewalks were wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and birds chirped on the power lines.

Sirius stopped as he spotted one of the muggle machines. It was on the side of the road, two wheels on the sidewalk, nobody seated inside. Sirius peered through the window. The pedals, the controls... it looked all so complex. Sirius had been at an event hosted by the Ollivanders, where they had showed enchanted machinery and Sirius had discovered the existence of motors and words like _gears_ and _steering wheel_. He had for once been so glad that his Father insisted to be at events where everyone important was. The Ollivanders would have been too eccentric to be proper company otherwise, and Sirius would have never known of the roaring motorcycles Elisa Ollivanders had enchanted to behave like horses.

"It's quite the fancy car. You'll have to work hard at school to get yourself the same."

Sirius started. A woman with a rolling baby-carriage-thing had somehow managed to sneak up to him.

"My, what are you dressed up as, dear ?"

The woman's hair was held in place with a headband and a weird bright blue dress fell to her knees. It covered her chest and arms, finishing in a white collar around her neck. And she was asking _Sirius_ what _he_ was dressed like ?

Sirius stared down as his robes. "Uh, wizard?"

"Ah, I see it now. But where's your wand?"

Sirius straightened, proud the lady would think he was eleven years old. "I don't whip my wand out just for anybody," he said primly. "People like you don't get to see it. There's a law." Because the woman _had_ to be a muggle. That or these were the strangest robes, but she did not look foreign.

The woman's lips twitched. Her laughing eyes quickly narrowed in warning. "Goodness, are you been clever with me? You're too young for innuendo, aren't you?" she mused, while Sirius mused about what _innuendo_ might be. "Now, where's your mam?"

This woman didn't _know_ his mother. She wouldn't be able to tell on Sirius. It was just too tempting.

"She's really a nasty kind of witch, Ma'am. I'd just walk around a bit myself. I live right over there. I'm big enough to be out of sight for ten minutes. I mean, kids half my age work in the coal mines."

Muggles sent their kids work in the coal mines and factories. That was common knowledge, even if Sirius wasn't clear on what factories were exactly.

The woman chuckled and ruffled his hair. "What a way to talk of your own mam!"

The muggle _touched_ him. Merlin's feet, Mother was going to scourgify every strand off his face.

Unless Mother never found out. Sirius grinned. Muggles were friendly. Like dogs. Crabbe had a dog.

"Ma'am, you wouldn't know somewhere with dogs around here?"

"Like a shop? For puppies? In London for sure. But Mr. Allen at number 9 has a two fine dogs. Don't you know him?"

Sirius grimaced apologetically. "We don't talk to neighbors. My mother's a nasty witch." Merlin, he could say that over and over until sunset and not tire of it.

In the following days, Sirius felt like the smartest, sneakiest boy in the universe. Mr. Allen was old and altogether more polite Sirius had thought muggles could be. The woman in the street had spoken her English kind of funny and not proper, but Mr. Allen could've been pureblood. When Sirius asked, Mr. Allen gave him a quite serious speech about Queen's English, Cockney and class, and two sentences that changed Sirius' life_._

_"Some are of the opinion that a man's worth is in their origin, and so revealed in his speech. Others are of the opinion that birth is just happenstance, and what matters is what you do with your situation."_

Sirius went home with the mind-boggling realization that his parents rules and sayings about what was proper or not were just _opinions_. Mr. Allen had wanted to meet his parents of course, but Father's wards always changed his mind as soon as he got too close to number 13, and by the third time, Mr. Allen stopped asking.

The fifth time Sirius sneaked back in, he found his brother on his bed, arms crossed with a pout on his face.

"Get off my bed," Sirius snapped.

He was satisfied to see Regulus obey. Regulus didn't lose the pout. "Where were you? You were gone for _ages_."

"I told you, exploring and stealing candy from filthy muggles, and I _told_ you that if you told Mother she would shout. Here's some."

Kreacher was soft on Regulus. He wasn't telling when he could feel Sirius leaving the wards because Regulus had asked. Sirius was a genius for figuring out the bribe, and lucky the muggle man had given him candy that first time.

"We could get Kreacher to go get more. But I want to play with the dogs too!"

Sirius paled. "What? There aren't any -" His face flushed with fury as he realized. "Kreacher, you followed me!"

That nasty house elf just stared back. "Young master Black does not what is good for him."

"Kreacher says you're not _actually_ stealing. He told me the muggle is _giving _you the candy. You're playing with dogs too. I want to play with the dogs."

_Merlin_. Sirius swallowed. Perhaps his little brother could be good for something, for once."Say Reggie, do you think you could convince Mother to get us a dog?"

"Mistress would never tolerate a filthy dog in her noble house."

Regulus looked dejected. "I do want to play with the dogs."

"Young master Regulus must now lower himself to go to a filthy muggle house. Young master Sirius is a disgrace."

Regulus' eyes filled with tears. "But I want to play with the dogs!"

"Shut up," Sirius muttered.

"I want-"

"Shut _up_!" Sirius urgently hissed, grabbing his shrieking little brother by the arms.

"What is happening here?"

Sirius' stomach dropped. Mother could not find out about Mr. Allen.

"He wants a dog," Sirius said with forced calm, now a solid step away from Regulus. "Dogs are... What do you think of dogs, Mother?"

Mother stared at him like he was a particularly filthy mongrel. "What a _stupid_ question, Sirius."

"But what if they live with muggles?"

"Regulus, dear, you sound confused."

"We could wash after, really well." Regulus' face scrunched up. "_Scourgify_ even."

"Kreacher, tell me what's going on."

Dread rooted Sirius on the spot. Kreacher _couldn't_ lie to a direct order. Not exactly. Oh, he lied by not saying, to protect Regulus. He said Sirius had just come back from number 9, where there were dogs, and where he'd found candy.

It was more than enough to send Mother into a fury.

By the evening, the windows were spelled to not allow Sirius outside. Sirius was made to eat only candy for a whole week, until just the sight of it made him want to vomit. For Regulus, Mother bought a present : a plush dog enchanted to nuzzle him and softly bark on command. He was forbidden to share it with Sirius. He did it anyway. When Regulus had inevitably got caught, he told Mother he didn't want the future Lord Black to hate him.

Because Regulus was the favorite, instead of shouting, Mother smiled a little.

"Your brother uses his brain, Sirius. Why can't you be more like him?"

Sirius looked down, boiling with fury. He _did_ like the toy dog, so he tried to be a bit nicer to Reggie. It was hard when Reggie was constantly all_ "Mummy I love you" _and "_Wow, Mother, that dress looks wonderful on you"_ to get his way. He made Sirius want to punch him in the face.

"What happened to Mr. Allen?" Sirius dared ask Kreacher a few weeks later.

"He's dead. Filthy muggle."

_Dead. Dead. _"But... the statute of secrecy?"

"Filthy Muggle was old. Nobody be suspecting."

Mr. Allen had had grand-kids. Three girls, one boy. The youngest starting primary school this year. He'd told Sirius all about them. And his dogs. What had happened to Ruby and Ollie?

"Kreacher does not know. Kreacher does not care about a filthy muggle's drooling beasts and young master shouldn't either."

Sirius felt like somebody had shoved a thin blade through his lungs. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. His hands shook.

He was very quiet the next few days. Father and Mother even praised him for it :_ "It seems like you've finally decided to grow up."_

Sirius just quietly looked down. _He'd gotten Mr. Allen killed._

It was just another afternoon stuck in dress robes, of being around while Mother and Father sucked up to Bartemius Crouch, who was pureblood and important and becoming even more important. His absent son was also Bartemius, ten years old but apparently too busy with studies to play (Sirius felt kind of sorry for him).

"Oh, Goldstein said _that_? The times we live in... To think a man of Goldstein's... station would dare..." Mother's voice was simpering and careful. She didn't shriek 'a filthy-half blood like Goldstein'. Surely Crouch wasn't stupid enough to fall for the act. "Someone should really show him -"

Sirius couldn't bear it anymore. "Like you showed Mr. Allen by killing him because you didn't like that I petted his dog?"

Crouch's head whipped to him. "Excuse me?"

"_Sirius_!" Mother shrieked.

He couldn't stop. It was like a bubble had burst. "Yeah, she killed him," he spat shaking with rage and grief. "He was a muggle, but he was –"

"_Silencio!_"

-_he_ _was nice_.

Two days later, Sirius lay on his bed, shivering. He'd never felt so cold, so weak. Mother had spelled his mouth shut. He hadn't eaten or drunk in days. He hadn't been able to scream when she'd struck him with stinging curse after stinging curse, shrieking that he should be grateful she wasn't using anything stronger. Father had led her away after a time. Then Father had come back, standing over a breathless Sirius, struggling to inhale through his nose as tears ran down his face.

"Sirius, I understand growing up a Black comes with its set of expectations, and that at your age it can be challenging. You are magically more powerful than Regulus, and your mind would be just fine were you to apply it to the right things. But if you keep at it, Regulus will have to be named heir."

_He was going to die. They would kill him. The only reason he was alive was his perfect little brother was magically weak. _

"Do you understand the delicate position you put the family in ?" Father continued. "It was suitably resolved, of course, but surely you can see this kind of behavior fails to benefit you?"

Orion Black didn't look upon Sirius with love, but he did look upset and disappointed. Like one would be when realizing their prized Pegasus wasn't docile enough to ride.

"You act deaf to our words, perhaps your cousins will help you see reason. The Spring holidays begin next week. Until then, you'll stay in your room and reflect upon your actions."

Sirius gasped wretchedly when Father undid the curse on his mouth. He rubbed his lips, desperate to ascertain they were _there_, that they wouldn't vanish again.

"Kreacher will bring you water. Food will come next week, if you behave."

Reggie snuck in a couple of times, eyes teary. "I'm sorry," he'd whisper, "I tried to make them stop punishing you. I want to play... They won't listen. I'll try harder."

Sirius was too weak to tell him to go away, or to prevent Regulus from hugging him. He hated the awful feelings Reggie's blubbering stirred up inside him. Fury, because Reggie was so weak and such a suck up. Guilt, because Reggie _did_ love him and Sirius had no idea how to be a good brother to him.

* * *

"Sirius, you need to do as you're told," Bellatrix said heavily. "Or you'll die before you go to Hogwarts."

Standing cross-armed while his cousins sat on his bed, Sirius swallowed. Cousin Bella was scary sometimes, but she showed him good stuff too. They played all together most summers, bringing the cold corridors alive with pretend-games where the world was theirs to conquer. And of the three cousins, Bella was most like him : she hated to be told what to do. If Bella said that, maybe... maybe Sirius _should_ be scared and listen for real.

"Just don't say it," Narcissa said. "Keep it inside and do what they want until you have more freedom."

Cousin Cissy was a suck up like Regulus, she was just less obvious about it and her voice didn't whine. Sirius didn't like that she looked at him like he was stupid.

"It gets better at Hogwarts," Meda promised. "Much better. But you need to get there first."

Cousin Meda... Andromeda was clever. She'd gotten them to somehow to leave her alone. She would sneak up to Sirius' room after bedtime and read him stories. To _him_, not Regulus. Meda was his favorite.

"I told them medical checks were compulsory and that the healer at Hogwarts test all students for magical ailments and compulsions," Meda added. "They won't be able to do anything that has lasting consequences unless they want it public."

_The rest you can survive._

Sirius balled his fists and bowed his head. Just three years to go. It felt like forever.

Sometimes, despite the wards, he would hear the roar of a motor outside. He pictured fancy cars and huge gleaming motorcycles, and the look on his parents' face when he'd be Lord Black and ride one to the Wizengamot himself.

* * *

**Sirius' Hogwarts years are coming next chapter. The good news is that they're already written, just too long for a single chapter. **

**I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts! **


	3. S: The Black Gryffindor

**1971-72 - Sirius, 1st year**

Platform 9 and ¾ echoed with a hundred conversations cut by the whistling of the train engine. _A_ _train engine_. Mother and Father wouldn't shut up about how the Ministry catered to mudbloods, but Sirius couldn't take his eyes off the fascinating machine.

"You shouldn't be looking so happy until you're _on_ the Express. Your parents will think you want to leave them. It's rude."

Sirius tore his eyes away from the train. He double checked Mother hadn't found him. She'd wanted to show him off in front of other parents but Sirius had preferred to escape. It's not like she could punish him about it. Not until the holidays, and anyway, if it hadn't been _that_ she'd have found another thing to punish him for within two hours.

No Mother in sight. Sirius allowed himself to relax once more. The bespectacled boy before him was a self-assured and messy-haired, with tailored robes. Pureblood, he had to be. But no-one Sirius remembered having been introduced to.

"I'm Sirius Black," he said, with a minute bow of his head.

"Oh. James Potter. Mother's a Black, but she said the other Blacks don't consider us proper company."

Sirius snorted. "That's a point in your favor, actually."

James' eyebrows shot to his hairline. He took a slow breath, his laughing eyes glinting with curiosity. "So... you mean they're truly _dark_? As in not _just_ dark, but _bad_?"

"If the aurors end up asking, you're the one who said that."

James laughed. Sirius marveled at that laughter, easy, friendly. He had to smile.

"Let's get on," Sirius decided. "I'll let you pick whichever game or conversation as long as it's not my family. I can't wait to get away from them."

James chuckled again. "Uh, Quidditch? My parents can't stand it anymore when I go off about the Tutshill Tornados. I just love how they take risks and allow new players in, even if they don't win all that much."

"I haven't been allowed to follow Quidditch since the Caerphilly Catapults allowed a half-blood on their team and the Prophet praised it as a sound move." A _filthy corrupt sport_, Quidditch had become.

"What, you mean Georgia McCoy? That was _two years ago!_ " James looked absolutely horrified. "I... then you know _nothing_?"

"Sounds like you're going to have to catch me up."

James shut his mouth and stared, an impossibly wide grin lighting up his face. "Serious? You want to hear me talk about Quidditch for... Merlin, it's going to take _hours_ to catch you up properly."

"I'm _always_ Sirius."

James burst out laughing. Sirius caught himself staring in delighted astonishment, _again_. People just didn't react to him like that. His family had been a miserable bunch for as long as he could remember, and even his cousins were guarded.

"Huh, who'd have thought my first friend at Hogwarts would be a Black ?" James said a few hours later as they tried to make smoke-rings, their mouths full of Smoking Strudels.

_Friends_. Sirius blinked. It's not that he didn't know of friends. Or that the kids whose company his parents had shoved on him didn't have friends of their own. But they'd stayed away from Sirius, as if all the trouble he got himself into was catching.

_Friends_ seemed a word you wouldn't use unless you had carefully thought it over. But James... James was grinning at him. Sirius hadn't had this much fun in ages.

"I'm honored to be friends with a Potter."

"_Seriously_ honored?"

Sirius grinned. "I'm always Sirius."

* * *

The Sorting Hat was so wide it fell over Sirius' eyes.

_"You believe in justice. You don't want to bend. There's loyalty there, it just seems you've struggled to find people worthy of it."_

_You can't! _Sirius thought as he realized what that crazy hat was getting at. _My parents will kill me!_

Beneath his fear, a thought, reckless, triumphant, welled up inside him. _I knew it! I'm _not_ like them! _And another, more hopeful : James expected to sort Gryffindor, like his father had.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat bellowed.

_Shit._ Mother would scourgify his mouth when he'd used the muggle curse in her presence. But Sirius couldn't help it right now. _Shit. Shit. Shit!_

The clapping was scattered, most students just gawping at him like idiots.

Then a couple Gryffindors stood up and clapped harder. "House loyalty, or what? You want Black's autograph first?"

Slowly, the house joined in, until everyone was clapping and even some hoots could be heard.

"A little dignity, thank you," Professor McGonagall called. She didn't look all that upset.

Sirius bit back a grateful grin and strode to the Gryffindor table, where the two upperclassmen who'd spoken up had made him a spot.

"Who are you? I owe you one."

"Alice Grayson. I'm in seventh year."

"Andrew Cassidy, sixth."

Sirius recognized neither name. "You're not purebloods."

"Actually, both my parents are magical," Alice said, sounding a little annoyed. "But you're right, not one of _those_ purebloods. I've got a muggle grandparent. She's wonderful, by the way." The last was almost a threat. Sirius nodded quickly. He wasn't looking for trouble.

"I'm not just not a pureblood," Andrew whispered, his lips twitching conspiratorially. "I'm a _muggleborn_, Buddy."

Sirius couldn't help a grin, despite the churning in his stomach. _Murdered. He was going to get murdered. His body would never be found._

He froze when Bellatrix and Narcissa ambushed him right out of the Great Hall.

"He's mine," Bella said, threat thick in her voice. She was twirling her wand lazily between her finger. "Touch him, and you'll deal with me."

Sirius swallowed. Of course everyone, from the four houses, was staring. The last made him hopeful, though. People wouldn't want to cross Bella for sure. But what would _Bella_ do to him? His stomach further dropped when the Gryffindor prefect shepherding the first years told them to hurry, that Sirius would catch up.

Hiding behind a brave face, Sirius wished Meda hadn't graduated last year. Cousin Meda wouldn't let him get hurt.

"You're so dead." Bella looked furious, but also... _gleeful_? "I always knew you weren't right in the head. Merlin, we can't have a _Gryffindor_ Lord Black!"

"Politically, it might actually be a great opportunity for our family," Narcissa muttered. "He won't be thought to be a younger Orion Black. It'll intrigue families who dismiss or distrust us now."

Sirius' sigh was more of a groan. Narcissa was fourteen and acted thirty. She'd acted thirty since she'd been born.

"I'll write Uncle Orion," Narcissa said, her lips twisting slightly at the idea. "I'll show him it's not _that_ bad."

As much as his and Narcissa's personalities just didn't mesh, Sirius had to recognize she was being unusually helpful. "Thanks... I'm not sure what happened. I didn't ask for this. The Hat..."

"Don't get a big head, Cousin," Bella warned. "You're a Black, don't think to forget it unless you want _us_ to forget it too."

They, Bella especially, were totally going to act like Sirius _owed_ them from now on. But with his cousins on his side (sort of), Sirius figured Gryffindor might not so horrible.

His mood was unusually light as he climbed to the seventh floor. He flashed hopeful smiles at the portraits and managed to charm his way to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room. His eyes lit up when he saw James outside a pink fat lady's portrait.

"Sorry, the prefect wouldn't let me wait for you. I figured you'd need the password. Did your cousins give you a hard time?"

Sirius chuckled. He still wasn't sure what to think of it. Or how much his Slytherin cousins would want him to reveal.

"Oi, James, if my parents murder me, you'll make sure they'll die in Azkaban, promise ?'

A shadow crossed James' face. He smiled shakily, as if unsure Sirius was joking. "Sure, I'll write Mum and Dad."

_Mum and Dad_. Sirius could picture his father's face if Sirius ever called him _Dad_.

"Sirius... Your cousin Bellatrix, she-"

"Don't worry, they're okay." Sirius couldn't help grinning at James' concern. It was just so... unexpected in a brilliant way. "I just have to make sure that my death would be bad for my parents, you know, for their social status and everything."

"I'll write Mum and Dad," James repeated, no hint of smile left on his face.

The common room was an ostentatious whirlwind of red and gold, with stuffy armchairs way too big for them, and rather large even for the seventh years. Yet it was _cosy_. When McGonagall told them their House would become their second home, Sirius could well believe it.

"How did a _Black_ get sorted here?"

"He used a very dark curse to befuddle the Sorting Hat," James deadpanned, saving Sirius from having to find a suitable reply (or, more likely, hex).

"Which would probably make him as powerful as Grindewald," Alice said, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't pick on him... Either that, or he's a true Gryffindor, in which case you're being an ass, Sloper."

James' arm was slung around Sirius' shoulder. Sirius beamed. Meda had been right. Things _were_ so much better at Hogwarts.

* * *

Three months later, Meda ran off to get married with Ted Tonks. Sirius stared at the letter she had sent him, under shock.

She'd left. You could _leave_. Sirius had never even considered it, because... His head spun. _You actually didn't _have to_ be a Black? _

"Hey, where -"

"No. I'm going alone, James. It's a family thing. I need to find my cousins."

As soon as he had climbed out of the Gryffindor common room, Sirius broke into a run.

They met outside, where the frozen grass crunched under their feet and the winter air stole their breath. Cousin Bella summoned a small snowstorm, that howled loud enough to deter any wannabe eavesdropper.

Bellatrix seemed in desperate wish for a target. "How could she!"

"She says she wants to stay our family," Sirius had to point out, his hands held out in a peacemaking gesture, just in case Bellatrix got it in her head to blame _him_ for all this. "That even if she's blasted off the family tree, it doesn't mean the five of us can't be family."

"A muggle, how could she for a muggle! How could she want _a muggle_?"

"Muggle-_born_," Sirius corrected. "He has magic."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him. "Not helping, Cousin." Her knuckles were white around her wand.

"So he's a muggleborn. So what?" Sirius had met a few by now, and even if most weren't half as cool as Andrew, he struggled more and more to see why it was such a big deal. "She wants him. Maybe he's a swell guy. Maybe he doesn't boss her around or threaten her and does everything _she_ asks. I warn you, I want a dog. I'll have one when I'm Lord Black, maybe more than one."

"It's not the same. I wouldn't care about her having a muggle _toy_. She married the mudblood. She _likes _him She... She chose _him_. _How could she!_"

Sirius realized then it was more than anger, more than shock. It was jealousy, burning from Bellatrix so violently that Sirius was scared her accidental magic would flare up.

Narcissa held back, dwarfed in her winter coat as she hugged herself. She looked... drained. "Did you see this coming? Did she ever hint at it to you?" she wondered softly. "How long has she been talking to this Tonks guy?"

"She _lied_ to us. She _used_ us. For a _muggle_. She's no sister of mine."

Sirius shrugged. "Mother and Father are still family to me, and they've done much worse than Meda."

Narcissa flinched, but Bella just scoffed.

"You don't understand. She'd have told us if she cared at all about what we thought. She knew we might choose to never talk to her again and she's fine with it. We're not all that important anymore. I think I hate her," Bella said, her voice suddenly calm once more. Too calm. "I really do. Maybe I'll kill the muggle. Yes, I'm going to sit my N.E.W.T.s, then I'll kill him."

Sirius crossed his arms. _What was the point, of valuing the family who made you miserable over the people who actually did right by you?_

"I forbid you to write to her." Bellatrix's voice was full of threat.

"Fine, I won't," he lied. He'd get James to send the letters for him, using an owlery owl.

* * *

Sirius waited until after the Yule holidays (more miserable than usual, he'd signed himself up to stay at Hogwarts but his wonderful parents had come and dragged him home) to write Meda. But he wasn't as discreet about it as he thought he'd been. Bella burned his letter to Meda, almost roasting the poor owl. Then she turned her wand on him.

This was the first time Bella hexed him to hurt.

"You too want to declare war on the Black family?" Her giggle had a nasty edge to it. "Well, be prepared to defend yourself, little cousin."

Sirius groaned out in pain when the _Incarcerous_ ropes tightened hard enough to bruise. He bit back a scream, beads of sweat popping on his forehead as the ropes grew spikes, digging into his robes and skin.

"Oh, cousin, where are your protective spells ?" Bellatrix teased, as if he could do anything with his hands bound and his useless wand in his pocket. "It's very Gryffindor of you. You'd think you lot would teach yourself magic, but no, you're too good for magic. You stay weak, because then when you encounter a threat any wizard worthy of the name could easily vanquish, you can boast you were in a life threatening situation and about how brave you were." Bella's voice grew higher, a teasing baby-ish sing song that stomped all over Sirius' pride. "It's _so brave_ of you to not cry, Sirius. Protego's a nice spell, otherwise. Look it up."

Sirius' robes had been shredded into rags by the time Bellatrix allowed him to drag himself back up to the Gryffindor common room.

"We need to get back at her," James declared after he'd managed to coax the details of the incident out of Sirius.

"She's dangerous, James. She _wants_ an excuse to hex us."

"Come on, let's ask Alice and Andrew. They're smart."

Sirius blinked. He still had to get used to asking anybody for anything.

"How about a prank on her whole class so it's not obvious it's you?" Andrew suggested after James had explained as much as Sirius allowed him to. "Charms N.E.W.T.s class, maybe? Flitwick's more lenient. Just don't make it nasty enough Sprout or McGonagall will want to stick their noses in."

At their confused-but-hopeful faces Andrew explained the great tradition of pranks of muggle boarding schools.

"It's not just a muggle thing," Alice joined in. "Zonko's sells stuff you could use. I'll get you a catalog."

"We could also decide on a prank and invent the spells we need," Sirius said. "Can you two help with that?"

"Invent spells ?" James said with a frown. "In our first year?"

"Sure, my cousins do it all the time. It's- "

"Is it dark arts?" James looked more excited than disapproving.

"Depends on the spell."

"Nothing that damages their school notes, nothing permanent and nothing too humiliating," Alice warned. "So no making them toothless or naked, alright ?"

The boys solemnly promised.

They decided to charm the tables in Flitwick's classroom. They had Charms just before the N.E.W.T.s class on Tuesday mornings. The charm would stick for ten minutes or so and then jump to the nearest person, attracted by movement, heat and magic.

"What if Flitwick detects the charm before the seventh years can trigger it?"

"We'll need to distract him in-between periods," Sirius agreed. His thoughts briefly flitted on Reggie and Kreacher, and for half a second he almost missed his little brother. He narrowed his eyes and nodded his head in direction of Remus Lupin, who was studying in a corner. "What about Remus? Flitwick won't suspect a thing if Remus stays back to ask questions."

Remus was a pureblood, but the kind with untailored robes and a father who worked in a shop the Lupin family didn't own. He'd not even attended Hogwarts. The way Remus talked about him, the man wasn't all that much involved in his life. Lupin was Remus' mother's name. She'd been Hufflepuff. Mrs. Lupin bred dogs, which made her someone Sirius liked on principle.

Remus looked surprised and thrilled to be asked.

"Can I help too?" Peter Pettigrew eagerly said, a few days later, as he overheard them discussing their plan in the dorm.

James nodded slowly with a paternal smile. "Absolutely, we'll find you something."

Remus' end-of-period questions were suitably smart, Flitwick didn't get the chance to notice the temporary enchantments sticking to his classroom furniture.

Less than five minutes into the lesson, the Seventh years realized their skin had changed color : spots and splotches of every hue covered their faces and bodies, making them look like a particularly inventive child's coloring project. Bellatrix had turned a dark green, her mouth purple and her eyes circled by yellow.

Apparently Flitwick had just laughed and assigned to them reversing the prank as extra homework.

By lunchtime, Bella's new colors were disappointingly gone. Others had tried glamours, which just made it worse : thanks to Alice, Sirius and James had made it so glamours would cause the caster to be shrouded in a halo of ugly swirling colors spelling _CHEAT._

"What's this?" Sprout exclaimed from the teachers' table as the N.E.W.T students, over half of them still charmed, sat down for lunch.

"A good way to see who's an actual witch or wizard, and who's just a parrot unable to use magic in ways not spelled out by our text books."

Bella's scornful voice carried through the Great Hall, and Sirius realized, annoyed, that he'd actually helped her show off with that one.

Still, people were laughing hard, most of the charmed Seventh years seemed to take it well, and it didn't look like Sirius would get in any trouble. It was a wonderful feeling.

"Next time, we need to find something Bellatrix can't shrug off," he whispered to James.

James shook his head ruefully, a broad grin on his face. "You're on. But take a second to enjoy success before hatching new plots, will you ? You single-minded Slythindoor."

Sirius elbowed him, unable to conceal his own merry mood.

The Marauders didn't have a name yet, but this would be forever remembered as their first prank.

* * *

**1972 - End of first year**

"That one was mean," Remus said, staring at his rake as they cleaned out the greenhouses for detention.

"Snape started it. He covered me in boils just for saying hi to Evans!"

"You didn't just say hi." Remus muttered, his voice so low it was almost a whisper and his eyes pleading like he was afraid James would shout at him. "You said he wasn't worth her company."

James sighed. "He can't be bothered to dress like a human being, and he acts like nobody's worth his time. Evans must be hanging out with him out of pity. Father explained that muggles have religion that makes them want to do things like that for their souls."

"You still looked better than that sniveling slytherin, even with all the boils," Sirius interjected, winking at James. He then chuckled. "Lighten up, Remus. McGonagall wouldn't have let us have detention all together if she truly disapproved. Snape knows more dark arts than the whole of Gryffindor combined."

"You included ?" James quipped.

Sirius pulled a face. "Yeah... If he wasn't such a scruffy half-blood, Bella would be all over him."

Remus still looked uneasy.

James noticed and straightened, hands on hips. "He covered me in pus-filled boils !" He declared, exaggerating his outrage. "How was making his nose drip oil meaner, Lupin?"

Remus opened his mouth. He thought better of it. He didn't point out _"it was more a downpour than a drip and you ruined some of his books, which were obviously already second hand."_ He didn't say "_it's different because you're pure-blood and confident and rich and handsome and popular"._ Remus had friends, and that alone was a miracle. He had to take their side. A nagging little voice told him to enjoy it while he could, before they all found out the truth about him.

So Remus took a deep breath. "I guess I just feel bad because he … sniveled about it while you just shrugged the boils off."

"Trust me, he's just trying to manipulate you to get back at you harder," Sirius said, with a grimace. "I know all about people like him. Snivelus will have to learn that doesn't work with us."

James guffawed. "Snivelus ?" he mouthed.

Sirius grinned evilly. "Hey, Remus said it first. He just _won't_ stop sniveling."

Sirius hexed Snivelus because he could. Because he couldn't hex his mother, his father, his aunt and uncle, or his ever-angrier cousin Bellatrix. He _could_ have hexed his brother, but for all that Regulus was a suck up to Kreacher, their parents, and, at Hogwarts, the worst of the Slytherins, the thought of raising his wand to Reggie made Sirius' stomach churn in a weird way. _Decency_, he guessed. Hexing your little brother was kind of lame.

The summer after first year, Sirius decorated his bedroom with Gryffindor colors. With help from Meda, he cast a blood ward to make the room magically his, enough to keep his parents from spelling the walls or sheets any other color. His blood was close enough to Father's that to break the ward, Father would have to magically disown Sirius. Mother had Kreacher cover Sirius' food in hot red peppers "_since you like Gryffindor colors so much_,_ you disgrace!"_, so much that Sirius soon had to choose between starvation and agonizing stomach cramps. Luckily Regulus snuck him some food and Father, for all his affected disappointment, liked the idea of a stubborn son. That kept things from going too far.

Sirius had to get his taste-buds regrown when he returned to Hogwarts, but it had been worth it. Red and gold his room would stay.

* * *

**1973-74 - Sirius, 3rd year**

Remus Lupin was a _werewolf_. Sirius cursed himself for not putting the pieces together earlier. Remus vanishing every full moon should have been a ridiculously obvious clue. It's just that Remus was so... well, _un-werewolf_ that Sirius had been blind. Remus' excuses about him being homesick, then sick, then his mother being sick, then... _well_, his excuses had sounded true enough at the time.

The three gryffindors were seated on the floor in a corner of their dorm. The door was secured shut with a spell, but they still whispered.

"Werewolves are dangerous," James said slowly.

Peter gulped and nodded in fearful agreement.

"Remus isn't," Sirius objected. "Mother says werewolves should be _Adava-ed_, or at least chained by the _Imperius_. She says that of muggleborns too. That if they can't be killed, then maybe they could be kind of like house elves, serving purebloods."

The boys were now familiar with Sirius stating Walburga Black's beliefs as proof that truth had to be the opposite.

"So you're saying, maybe werewolves, or Remus at least, isn't trouble?" Peter said, a spark of hope lighting his round face.

Sirius grinned. "I think he's _so much_ trouble. But he's ours, no? He's been with us, and he's smart, he doesn't rat us out. He's kind."

James shrugged off the last like, _of course_, but Sirius hadn't grown up around kindness and so he didn't take it for granted.

"He's been spending hours drawing that map of Hogwarts for us," Sirius continued. "Marauders are family, damn it, we've got to figure out _something_."

It was Remus, who while not as magically strong as James and Sirius was as clever as any Ravenclaw, who'd suggested that instead of trying to trace each individual students directly on the upcoming Marauder's map, they'd layer an enchantment on every portrait and semi-aware castle fixture, so that the map would locate students for generations to come. Compared to that, Sirius' best trick to date had been making sure the for-now-very-incomplete map wouldn't show the Marauders unless it was a Marauders using the map, but that wasn't difficult at all. Sirius had wowed them only because the others were hopelessly ignorant about blood magic.

The point was, Remus was a swell bloke, and a valuable and loyal friend.

"So what do you do, when your friend's a werewolf?" James said, rubbing his face with his hands as if it could make him smarter. "When I was real sick, my parents stayed with me through it, and were extra-nice. We can't be around a werewolf."

"Maybe I can find a spell. Or make one..."

"Maybe his mum knows some already. Remus never said a cross word about her. We should write Mrs. Lupin."

Sirius blinked slowly, in that way he still got caught doing, when James reminded him the world could hold helpful adults. He mulled it over, weighting risk against benefit, and decided the benefit was well worth it.

They met Remus' mother, secretly, in Hogsmeade. A witch who, on top of breeding dogs and loving her kid despite him being a werewolf, was sneaky in a good way. Sirius liked her more the more he learned.

Julia Lupin was also kind of hot, for a mum.

She asked question first, about them and Remus and Hogwarts. Regular mum-questions, from James' and Peter's reactions. Sirius was quieter than usual, drinking in what he knew most people would just call _normal_.

"Werewolves don't harm animals. One of the puppies had escaped by accident and found himself locked with Remus during the full moon. Remus didn't harm him. That's how I realized. I always leave some of the dogs with him when he changes, it calms the wolf inside him." Mrs. Lupin straightened, with not little amount of pride. "I am a wolf animagus," she revealed in a soft voice.

Peter's jaw fell open. Sirius and James weren't much more contained.

"That is awesome, Ma'am," James declared solemnly. "We'll have to become animagi ourselves."

Mrs. Lupin's wide smile was a little ruined by the shimmer in her eyes. "It took me a year to master the transformation."

The boys winced as one. Sirius shook himself and nodded. "It's worth it."

"I lied by omission during my registration, while I was interrogated under oath. I said I transformed to hike in the wilds and herd my dogs. I had to answer if I meant to harm magicals or the ministry in any way, and that was an easy no. I was also asked if I had committed a crime in wolf form and if I intended to, so don't use your animals for anything wrong."

Mrs. Lupin took out a couple of well-worn books from her bag. "This should cover the theory. There's a potion to brew. I could help you with it during the holidays," she spared Sirius a compassionate glance, "or at another time if you're unable to come."

Sirius swallowed. "I'm honored by the trust you show us, Ma'am."

Mrs. Lupin's smile was her warmest yet. "Friends are the more precious thing in the world. I would be a bad mum if I didn't help you. Remus loves and admires you, it's obvious in his letters."

Sirius felt oddly warm. It wasn't the easy thrill that came from a well done pranks, it was something heavier, that came with responsibility. It was a feeling he didn't want to lose.

"This is going to be real tough," Peter later said, fear and excitement warring on his face as he paged through the first book.

Sirius shrugged. "Nothing we can't manage."

"Don't worry, Pete, we'll help you. I'm going to ask Prof McG for tips. I'll tell her I want to become an animagus after I graduate."

"Turn up the charm, Potter," Sirius said with a knowing grin, "we're counting on you."

It took them almost two full years, but, Merlin, when they finally got it down, they were _beautiful_. Even Peter's unassuming rat : it was the perfect form to deactivate the Whomping Willow, and more than one prank was made possible by having a rat as lookout.

* * *

**1975-76 - Sirius, fifth year**

"I fucked up."

Remus stared flatly at Sirius, his stiff shoulder against the cold stone wall. A _muffiato_ muffled their conversation to anyone who'd stumble upon them.

"I thought I mattered more to you than your irrational hate for Snape."

"It's not irrational!" Sirius exploded "Snivelus-" he trailed off at the expression on Remus face.

_Merlin_. Sirius cleared his throat awkwardly. "Moony, you do matter more to me so much more than hexing Snape does. I'm sorry, truly."

"Words are cheap."

"Dumbledore didn't seem to think I did such a wrong thing..."

"_What _?"

Sirius shrugged. "He gave me three weeks detention, and Snivelus is bound to silence. That's not what you get for attempted murder."

"Well, on the one hand, now Dumbledore's got the Black and Potter heirs owing him. On the other, he short-changed a half-blood who's of no use to him. And I'm just a werewolf, so no harm done."

Sirius flinched. It wasn't like that. It wasn't about blood. And Dumbledore was the one who'd let Remus attend Hogwarts _despite_ being a werewolf. "Moony, you've heard of Voldemort haven't you? The wizard who's gathering a new faction centered on blood purity and dark arts? Who's probably going to be the next Dark Lord?"

"What's that to do with any of this?"

"The ministry's full of blind fools and Voldemort supporters. People like Snape, he's got Voldemort lapdog written all over him. He _dreams_ of being one of the dark purebloods. Dumbledore can't do anything about it, but he knows it. That's why he didn't punish us -"

"So you figure Albus Dumbledore needs you, Sirius Black, to almost _ruin my life_ in order to set back Voldemort. It was the _only_ way, was it?" Remus' voice was shaking so hard he was almost growling. Sirius struggled not to shiver. "You couldn't just turn Snape away when you realized he was getting close to the Shack. You _had_ to make him face the wolf ?"

Sirius took a slow breath. _Merlin, he hated feeling like this._ "Are we still friends?"

Remus' anger was washed away by sudden anguish. "Padfoot, _yes_," he said thickly. "You' re... You're the only ones... You became animagi for me. But... you keep telling me to be more confident. To know my worth. Padfoot, you could've made me a _murderer_. My life, my parents' lives... I could've hurt James, damn it ! I just wish it meant something to you, something big enough to matter even when you're mad at Snape."

"Moony, this... It's not that I don't care- It's that- I can be an impulsive idiot. I... I just _didn't think_. If I had a Time Turner, I'd change it over. I'd just hex Snape and get detention and he'd still have no proof about you."

Remus face, his whole body, made it obvious there was more he wasn't saying.

"Say it, Moony. Let it out, I deserve it. I can take it."

"Snape never did anything to us that justifies being turned into a werewolf."

Sirius sucked in a breath. The _people_ Snivellus hung out with. Only Lily Evans -

Remus shook his head violently. "Don't you dare even think it! Don't you _dare._ You... You come from a family where torturing or murdering your enemies is what's done. Snape isn't just a bloke you can't stand. He's your _enemy_. The enemy of the heir of House Black. "

Sirius paled like he'd been punched. Regulus' snarled _"You're no different than those you claim to despise,"_ now ringing in his ears.

"You're better than that," Remus whispered. "Prove it to me. I want to trust you, Padfoot. I want nothing more. Your childhood, that wasn't right. I'm so proud you can see how wrong they are. You're one of the strongest people I know. But you need to choose what matters most to you."

Sirius swallowed. Summers blended together in his memories, the rage at having to be stuck at Grimmauld place. Without Meda, with Bellatrix growing angrier and nastier with every passing year, with Father furious at Narcissa, who'd so long hid behind her insufferable mask of perfect, shy daughter, blindsiding them all with that public hand-fasting to Lucius Malfoy (_Lucius. Malfoy._ Nothing more needed to be said). With Reggie so miserable because he didn't want to pick a side, and yet too stupid to do anything but sulk and learn dark arts.

He met Remus' eyes. "I can't go back there," Sirius decided, straightening. There was no coming back from that. "I don't want to be a Black. I..." He managed a weak smile. "I'll be a better friend."

Remus couldn't hold his gaze. "I'm not asking you to get disowned..."

"Yes, you actually are," Sirius replied gloomily. "But you're right, Moony. There's no other way. They're poison. I can't keep pretending it doesn't affect me. Prongs won't mind."

James didn't. He was thrilled. Sirius could've bludgeoned himself for not having decided to spend the summers at the Potters earlier. He pushed back down the terror threatening to drown his resolve. The thoughts about everything that could go _wrong_.

He had been using the memory of calling Dorea 'Mum' for the first time when he cast forth his first corporeal patronus. The note Uncle Alphard had sent him along a bag of galleons, which read "_this is your parents' share of my fortune" , _was nailed above his new bed and never failed to make him grin. He didn't change his name, because Dorea asked him not to.

_"I took Charlus' name proudly, but I would be so very proud if you stayed a Black, to show the world what Blacks can be."_

Sirius personally considered it was a lost cause, but he'd rather chew off his own arm than disappoint James' mother, so a Black he remained.

* * *

**September 1979 -**

"_Reducto!_" Sirius snarled, because he could never quite manage it non-verbally.

They'd lost too many people by letting Death Eaters get away. Now, and especially with Crouch and Moody passing a War-decree that made killing Voldemort's supporters legal, Sirius didn't hesitate.

The almost-twenty-year-old stuck to legal spells. He'd sworn off dark arts, even the simplest of tracking curses, the moment he'd left Grimmauld place behind forever. He didn't want to take the risk of fueling the anger, the cruelty, he knew existed inside him. But this was neither cruelty or revenge. It was common sense, safety, and perhaps even justice.

Next to him, James, his eyes on every door and window as he secured their perimeter, flinched at the crunch of Avery's thorax. He didn't say a word. Sirius knew Prongs would never bring it up. Not until the war was over.

James' animagus form was a stag. Stags could be fearsome, but they still were _prey_. Huge black dogs that could be mistaken for Grims, the omen of death, were... much less discriminating.

James' patronus was a stag, like his animagus form, because James was one of those people who was fine with who he was. Sirius' patronus wasn't an almost-Grim. A cheerful-but-solemn Border Collie bounced about whenever Sirius made magic mirror his happiest memories. If he'd been born a Potter, perhaps that would've been his animagus form too. Instead, Potter-adopted but not born, Sirius finally acknowledged some good had come of being born a Black : he could find it in him to be a killer so that James would not have to be.

Moony, Prongs, Wormtail, and even Lily, had helped him grow aware that he was purposefully dehumanizing his enemies in order to annihilate them, and that it was _wrong_. But Sirius would rather be wrong and wake up to be around his friends, to see James as unburdened as Sirius could make him, than style himself a paragon of virtue. Sirius wanted this whole mess to be over _fast_, before his little brother (as much as Regulus still was his brother) graduated from Hogwarts. Because he'd really hate to have to kill Reggie.

* * *

**There's so much more of Sirius that deserves to be covered: Azkaban and consequences for one (not just the dementors, but the whole 'nobody bothered to ask' aspect). But first the other Blacks will be in the limelight. We'll nevertheless soon see quite a bit of Sirius, through Regulus' eyes.**

**Don't hesitate to share your thoughts! Reviews make me happy. **


	4. N: Narcissa Black

**1966 - Narcissa**

"What were you thinking? Tell me, girl! Cygnus Black's wand jerked furiously, pointing straight at the curly-haired girl's chest. "_Tell me_ or I might just rip it from your mind!"

Thirteen-year-old Bella's mask of stubborn indifference cracked under the threat.

_But Father _couldn't _legilimize her! Everybody knew it could damage a mind, especially a child's!_ Yet witnessing Father's wrath, Narcissa was sure of nothing.

"They think they're better than us, Father ! I had to show them. It's not proper, I know, but now they'll know better."

"Oh yes, the Shafiqs won't invite us anymore, and they'll speak of us poorly. You understand nothing about power, do you, Bella ? _Incarcerous _! _Silencio !_ If you're so magically gifted, then free yourself, dear daughter. And I dare you, come hex _me_. See where that gets you."

Bella squirmed, bound like ropes that writhed liked snakes. She had managed to keep hold of her walnut wand, but her wrists were trapped.

"Focus on the ropes, not your discomfort, or you'll never amount to anything," Cygnus the Elder said, standing tall in gold-lined dress robes in his portrait. His gray eyes gleamed hungrily as he pushed Bella to master feats of magic beyond most adult mages. On the opposite wall, his wife, their great-grandmother Violetta, tutted in sympathy, muttering about ingrate children. A curl to her lips betrayed how much she enjoyed witnessing the punishment.

Narcissa wordlessly left the living room. Staying would only add to her big sister's humiliation.

Later, furious eyes red from tears, Bella came to Narcissa's room. Bella's own bedroom was a chaotic mess. Plush toys shared space with stuffed animals including a baby griffin enchanted to look like a hawk if anyone outside the immediately family was in the house. Of recent, Bellatrix fancied herself an astronomer so all sorts of equipment and charts crowded the floor and even the bed. Narcissa's room, in contrast, was very neat. A shop's worth of fashionable clothes were charmed to fit human mannequins the size of Narcissa's forearm, and ordered by season and color on long shelves spanning two walls. An admittedly excessive amount of hair accessories was neatly stored in a designated white-wood wardrobe, and next to the vanity, a household potion's kit to make one's own perfumes and cosmetics took a good quarter of the room. _Fascinating how the same ingredients, combined and prepared differently, could make a skin smoothening paste or a blistering solution_. Father never looked too closely, believing Narcissa to be a beauty-obsessed child. Mother favored glamours over potions, and so did not suspect that her youngest was just as interested in bottling flaming shields than in granting her long hair a beautiful shine (and her hair did shine, appearances were important and Narcissa _liked_ looking pretty.) She valued her magical lotions as much as her secret potions. They were two paths to power and influence, and Narcissa was determined to walk both.

"Father is weak," Bella decided, letting herself fall backwards spread-eagled on her sister's bed. "Tell me, Cissy, what should have I done? What would have been the _proper_ way?"

Narcissa, sitting on her vanity's chair with her back straight and her legs crossed as elegance dictated, allowed herself an aggravated sigh. "We have nothing to offer the Shafiqs. We need to be gracious so that they feel good about inviting us."

"How can we have nothing, we're Blacks ! Hera Shafiq is a stuck up squib with-"

"It's not you. It's father and mother." Narcissa was eleven, not yet at Hogwarts, but she understood the power-plays without magic better than both her sisters. "We'll have to do better than them. Everything they say about the Black's greatness, it's wishful thinking. We must be the ones who live up to it."

* * *

A feeling Narcissa couldn't quite name welled inside her the day she took the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Families were hugging everywhere. And not just nobodies. Greengrass, Crabbe, Bones... Strong-armed hugs and broad smiles. Mother patted Narcissa's cheek and kissed her forehead, praising her poise too loudly for the words to be just for her daughter alone, and suddenly, it didn't quite feel right.

Narcissa found a compartment she could share with her sisters. She didn't immediately sit.

"Meda, Bella, I'd like a hug."

It wasn't quite right either. Asked for, and met with some confusion and more awkwardness. But Meda hugged her. She was soft and warm, wildflower scent clinging to her clothes. Bella hugged her too, with rolled eyes and arms a little too tight. Bella's own freshening charms coated her robes and skin with a smell of incense too strong to be entirely proper. Bella had always liked attention. Narcissa, her cheeks tinged pink, smiled at them.

Meda hugged her a second time. "Look at us, finally at Hogwarts all together," she said merrily, and Narcissa's smile bloomed into a grin.

Most days, Narcissa didn't know whether she should feel happy or scared to love her sisters so. The charred holes in the immense Black family tapestry inhabiting their Uncle's house betrayed that not a single generation of Blacks had remained intact. Narcissa refused that to be their future. They would have to do better, to _be_ better.

"SLYTHERIN !" the Sorting Hat bellowed.

Narcissa struggled not to shake as she took the deceptively ratty piece of cloth off her head. It had been _in her mind_. It had seen _everything_.

Narcissa was a good listener. She understood that what mattered was not the words said.

Purebloods are superior. _People must believe that we are superior._

The others are not like us. _We will lose our advantages if we don't protect them._

Mudbloods will ruin England. _It's convenient to blame Mudbloods for everything._

You must behave like a Black. _I decide who you are, and don't you dare point out my inconsistencies._

Narcissa understood that as long as she behaved, she would not attract any negative attention. Andromeda was too rational : Narcissa could see her struggling even if Meda was too smart to argue. Bellatrix was too impatient, too stubborn to understand that raw magical power wasn't everything.

Her parents cared little for what lay beneath the surface. They cared to be deferred to. They cared what others said. Narcissa was very good at being pretty and proper.

This didn't stop Narcissa from relishing in those rare moments when her mother would brush her hair, muttering with rare affection that Narcissa was the only Black sister who knew how to behave, or when her father smiled, pleased to announce an acquaintance had spoken to him of Narcissa with approval. Narcissa's favorite room at home was the music room, because when she played music, Mother and Father would often come to sit and listen. They would say little, just be there, and they'd look... content, maybe even happy. Those memories Narcissa collected like precious stones as she already fantasized about a family of her own, which would be _perfect_.

* * *

**1972 **

Narcissa stood in front of the mirror, freshly sixteen and uncommonly frustrated. Everything from the styling of her long blonde hair to the fit of her uniform had become a source of worry.

As a child, it had been easy, comfortable, to adopt the role of the perfect, pretty little girl. It had been a convenient shield, something to cloak herself in as Mother and Father introduced her to society. Of course, being a Black, everybody was convinced they knew all there was to know about her. After all, gossip on pureblood familes had been the meat of table conversation in society homes for centuries. She herself had come to Hogwarts armed with hours' worth of anecdotes on Nott's fire-enthusiastic great-great-uncle or Longbottom's undiscriminating Grandmother (a Gryffindor husband, a Gryffindor _son_, and such public friends with Minerva McGonagall too -not that anybody questioned the woman's competence as a teacher, but surely, if she aimed to be respectable, she would have changed her name to something that didn't broadcast that her own father was a _muggle_-.)

Narcissa was no little girl anymore. She was not yet a lady. She would not be for years still. Unlike some of her classmates, she had not bloomed early. Her lithe frame had only begun to shed some of its childishness towards the end of third year. As pleasant as realizing that she would grow up beautiful had been, the novelty had now faded. Now, Narcissa was left with _this. _A figure that attracted attention but not respect, attention she could not control and that she found herself caring little for.

She had no use for vulgar whispers. The insights they gave her into the minds of the petty and the lustful left a bad taste in her mouth.

This was unacceptable. Narcissa refused to consider her looks something to be _endured_. They would have to become of use. To serve _her_ and not outsiders' intruding gazes. She could tell that the sixth and seventh years were more mature than her peers, and that some of her troubles would lessen greatly just by virtue of growing up, but her patience was at an end.

Until now, Narcissa had found power in being overlooked in the way well-behaved children are._ S_ilence had been Narcissa's invisibility cloak. Her sisters were the only ones who could claim to know her. Now silence meant others judged her shy, weak, with little personality of her own.

She briefly debated shaving her head to wordlessly make a statement. The thought made her sad. Selfishly, she enjoyed being beautiful. She was aware there was a power to be harnessed from attractiveness, if only she figured out _how_.

_After all, would Meda have left had she not been attracted to that mudblood?_ Surely her big sister would realize her folly and come back? Narcissa hadn't had a good night's sleep since that fateful letter, a month before. Ironically, as Narcissa soothed herself through study, she'd never done so well in class.

It happened one late winter day, as Narcissa was walking down the stairs back from the Owlery, alone. Her hand slid in her pocket, her fingers curling around her wand, as a group of fifth year boys, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, went quiet and turned to stare. They weren't pleasant stares.

"Do you think she's so stiff with her clothes off?"

Anthony Vance's friends, all boys, snickered as she walked past in silence, her calm forced.

"You know what they say about the quiet ones..." Vance added behind her. "I bet she's a screamer."

Humiliated and furious beneath her affected indifference, Narcissa decided it was time.

Bella let out a curious hum, her eyes crinkled in approval, as Narcissa asked her to spread the rumor she was interested in Vance. Narcissa wanted him to come to her. Bella herself, despite being close to eighteen, had yet to show any interest in romance and sex. Power games, on the other hand, were something she quite enjoyed.

"Is this to be a short or a long game, little sister ?"

"He thinks he's such a big man," Narcissa whispered, her fingers curled into fists. "I want to break his heart."

Bellatrix's grin held nothing friendly. "Good. And if you get impatient, I know a curse that makes boys unable to feel their dicks for days. It doesn't harm their precious tool, but usually they fumble around so much in a panic that they end up breaking it all by themselves. Imagine the pain when the curse is removed."

Narcissa winced. She herself preferred more subtle methods. There was nothing special about breaking a body, but a mind? That required greater finesse.

And so began a game of push and pull, where she confessed feelings to Vance in darkened corridors but then invoked her parents, and demanded they kept their love a secret. She was passionate, then cold, pretending deep hurt when he failed to live up to whatever expectations she decided a girlfriend ought to have.

She and Bella laughed themselves silly after Narcissa received a solid silver raven-shaped pendant the size of her thumb.

"I told him I needed something that would remind me of him when he wasn't around. He gave me a used shirt. I just had to point out Angita had been given a ruby-studded bracelet by her boyfriend who _clearly valued her. _I refused to talk to him for a couple of weeks. This must have cost all his savings"

Bella groaned, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "Why doesn't that asinine half-blood just dump you? You're not _that_ hot."

"Bragging points," Narcissa said cynically. "He has this idea of me in his mind that has nothing to do with any kind of reality." Vance had shown very little curiosity for her opinions, unless they were about him. He claimed to be madly in love with her, but Narcissa was confused as to _who_ he was in love with.

"Why do _you_ bother? Just hex him, Cissy, with something nasty and public. They won't expel you unless you maim him, and I assure you nobody in Hogwarts will forget."

Narcissa shook her head, her narrowed eyes set. Bella believed magic was the key to power, but Narcissa, for all she loved magic, knew it was _people_. "No spell can do this."

Vance's best friend was Byron Shacklebolt, a pureblood and a suitable marriage prospect, despite being Gryffindor. Narcissa made sure to flirt with Shacklebolt, just subtly enough to be able to accuse Vance of being controlling when he would protest. Byron, the arrogant fool, thought he had a chance, and made a very public, very ill advised move one night where drinks had been snuck in from Hogsmeade. The friendship did not survive.

Narcissa slept with Orpheus Travers, because of all the boys in Slytherin, the sixth year had a reputation for being discreet, and for being an encounter witches did not regret. Narcissa had to admit she had fun, and that he was quite the teacher. Not that Vance had been _bad_... The thrill of success had made up for any inadequacies. And Vance had yet to realize he so often got caught when he sneaked out of the Tower to meet her because she organized things in such a way that prefects or teachers would find him. The close to a hundred points his horniness had cost Ravenclaw weren't earning him any friends.

"Poor Vance, what did that clueless Raven ever do to you ?"

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at Travers. If he wanted a sincere answer, he would need to give her more.

"Only a blind man would think _you_ undecided," he continued, a smile dancing in his eyes. "You know where you're going every step of the way. He thinks you'll be wholly his if he tries hard enough... Why punish him like that ?"

Narcissa softened, seized by a rare urge to brag. "He was vulgar about me to make his friends laugh."

Travers shook his head, tracing a finger down her naked side as he struggled not to laugh. "What a flobberworm."

A content smile graced Narcissa's lips, yet she wondered. There was something hollow about playing a boy like a puppet. Vance was selfish, disrespectful unless he had something to gain, and cared about her being _his_ more than he cared to know her. All this time spent with him, thinking of him, of wearing masks in the most intimate situations... Narcissa found herself growing eager to put an end to it.

She had thought to learn how to weaponize her beauty, but she also now hungered for a relationship that felt _true_. Travers, who she had little power over, but who looked at her first and her body second, left her feeling, well... _good, _and sometimes wishing for more. A few months into their... _liaison_, she admitted to herself that she'd seduced Travers because she was curious to see what else there could between lovers, other than this charade she played to secure her reputation. She was surprised to see that Travers, _Orpheus_, who she'd found reasonably attractive at first, but nothing all that special, now caught her eye and her imagination. In short, she _liked_ him, and wished for more people to like.

Eight weeks before the O.W.L exams, it was high time to snap the trap shut. Narcissa became the perfect girlfriend. She whispered to Anthony, _Tony_, that she had decided to be brave. That she was tired of fighting against her feelings, even if her Black upbringing told her this wasn't right. Hogwarts was abuzz when they walked together down the Great Hall, hand in hand, most of the students struggling to believe the rumors had been true.

She never pouted or argued during those weeks. She laughed at his jokes. He glowed brighter with every passing day. She would study on her own, and sabotage their shared study sessions with conversation, cuddles and embraces. When his Ravenclaw instincts would rear their head, she would flatter him into convincing himself he was smarter than he was (and he knew she cared for _her_ grades and, as far as he knew, she wasn't studying any harder than he was). Any guilt Narcissa might have felt was squashed by Vance's attitude. Now that he was certain she loved him, he was even _less_ curious about what she felt and thought. He talked over her, spoke of other witches in a vulgar way, and expected Narcissa to feel special that she alone was spoken of with respect. Worse, he had begun making plans about spending her inheritance, as if the money was already his. Bella had started calling him _the Niffler._

Narcissa came to see him at breakfast, before the start of the first O.W.L. exam. Eyes turned to her and stared. She wasn't wearing her uniform, but a black, corseted dress worthy of a Yule Ball.

"So, Vance, _am_ I so stiff with my clothes off ? Do I... _scream _?" she asked with an innocent smile. Her voice was loud. The whole Ravenclaw table could hear her.

Vance looked confused. Color slowly left his face. "Cissa, _what?_"

"How you could think, even for one second, that I had so little self-respect I would like _you_..." Her eyes stopped smiling. "Well, this was fun. Thank you for showing me all the ways a man can be self-absorbed and tragically blind. All the ways a man can be made a fool of... _Never_ disrespect me again."

The look on his face, of something _shattering_, was deeply satisfying. The way the people around Vance looked at _her_, in disbelief or horror, was priceless. Narcissa would not ever be just a desirable body to them anymore.

"Oi, Vance !" Bella hollered from the Slytherin table, "Your Runes O.W.L is about to start ! I hope you're ready!"

Six O.W.L.s passed out of the ten Vance sat, all A's and just two scraped Es. For a boy who'd started the year in the top quarter of his class.

Narcissa heard that in a panic, he'd studied all night for his Herbology theory, and ended up falling asleep during the actual exam. Such a shame, especially considering it was a required N.E.W.T.s for the magical botanist job he'd been so passionate about.

Such was the price of crossing her.

* * *

"Aren't you scared no one's ever going to want to date you after this?" Sirius stared at her with mistrust. They were by the lake, enjoying the early summer sun and trying not to think too hard about the fact they'd soon have to board the Express.

He was her cousin, and twelve-years-old, so Narcissa decided to answer. "Only people of no consequence." Sarcasm seeped into her voice. "Cousin, do you truly think I am such an expert manipulator that the poor, loving boy never stood a chance? Have you paused to think maybe he liked the lie so much he never cared to look for the truth?"

Sirius snorted. "I _know_ Vance is a jerk." His smile faded. "But people _do_ fool each other. You cared and paid attention, but Meda still fooled you."

The casual cruelty of the statement cut unexpectedly deep. Narcissa stiffened. "It's different. Meda decided all the good of being a Black failed to make up for the bad. I don't think she was ever insincere about loving us." Narcissa hadn't _thought_ to look.

"Then why won't you write her!"

"And lose my status? My inheritance? All hope of peace at home?" Narcissa barely kept her voice calm, but she couldn't help it. "All that for a sister who has shown quite clearly I am not her priority?"

"You're making a huge deal about _writing_ _a letter_. Nobody's going to tell our parents. You could have it all : be perfect Cissy Black and still talk to Meda. Where's your Slytherin ambition?" Sirius, arms crossed and earnest, stared at her with intent gray eyes. "Is it _Bella_ forcing you to choose?"

"I don't want to write_ a letter_!" Narcissa spat. "I want my sister! Ambition is about not settling for _crumbs_! She's like the rest of them, getting herself blown off the tapestry! She gave up! She's a _coward_."

Sirius stared wide-eyed, his mouth half-open. It had to be the first time he'd heard her _shout_.

"I -"

"Shut up! Never, _ever_, talk to me of Andromeda. If she wants to talk to me, she can come home."

"Come on, she _can't_."

"She _can_. It'd be painful, and loud, and a lot of things..." Narcissa sucked in a breath as she struggled to regain her composure. "Cousin, she chose to _run away with a mudblood_. She doesn't lack the courage to come home. She just doesn't _want_ to."

A whoosh of air and a blur of silver and gray announced Bellatrix's presence. The elder Black jumped off her broomstick, an eyebrow raised.

"_Who_ doesn't want to?"

This was _not_ a conversation Narcissa felt ready to have with Bella. "_You_, marry Barty Crouch."

Bella grimaced.

Sirius, to his credit, took it in stride. "He can't shut up about being pureblood, he's full of dark, cruel humor, and quick to duel anything that moves. All the girls say he's dead cute. I even heard he doesn't get along with his father, so you don't have to worry about dad-in-law ruling your life. What not to love?"

Bella grimaced. "That sore loser has yet to _beat_ me in a duel. And honestly, you know who he reminds me of? _Reggie_. Barty can't hide how needy he is deep down. You can have him, cousin."

Sirius' grimace was now a mirror of Bella's. "Great sale. I don't think I've ever been so turned off."

"How's your _Protego_?" Bella's eyes shone and her smile had an edge. Her broom lay on the ground forgotten as she twirled her wand.

"Sexier than Bartemius Crouch Junior." Sirius whipped out his wand, a mask of bravado painting a forced smile on his face. "Hit me with your worst, I dare you!"

_Morgana_. "Your worst _stunner," _Narcissa warned. "I don't want to have to clean up the pieces."

The jet of red light was as thick as a finger crashed against Sirius' small but solid golden shield with a dull _CRACK. _The shield shattered into wisps of magic. Sirius stumbled backwards, struggling to keep his balance. He finally straightened with a gasp, clutching his wand arm.

"Ha! I win! I'm still standing! It only _feels_ like you broke my arm!"

Bella scoffed. "I'm going to expect better from you next year, firstie. Run off to Potter before I change my mind about taking pity on you."

Sirius didn't make her ask twice, charmed his truck wallet-sized, and sped off to where the chariots were waiting.

Bella turned to Narcissa, looking thoughtful. "I was scared Gryffindor would make him soft. He's not doing _too_ bad."

"Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion will harden him back up this summer."

Bella stared at her tone. "So _cynical_, Cissy. Bad day?"

Andromeda never came home. Narcissa tried not to think about it. She was glad when the letters stopped coming.

* * *

**1973 - **

It was early winter in her sixth year at Hogwarts, and for the first time in a decade, Narcissa was the only Black sister gracing the castle's halls. She watched other students in twos and fours, making it this whole friendship business look so uncomplicated. Unfortunately, she hadn't managed to find more than pleasant acquaintances among the students in her year, and the ones immediately above and below. The truth was, friendship required more sincerity and vulnerability than she had been prepared to show to all but her sisters.

Narcissa stiffened, the thought of Meda still quick to summon a feeling of cold betrayal. _Always_, Andromeda had promised. Until something better had come along. Her sisters were the only people Narcissa had thought she truly knew. Apparently she'd been wrong about _that_ too.

Anyway, she'd once had two sisters, now she had only one. She had to be strong and move on.

Narcissa bit back a sigh. She just needed good company. The obvious place to begin her search was the Slytherin common room.

Such a pity Orpheus was now steadily seeing Silvana. No other boy among the sixth and seventh years, or even the _fifth_ years, was half as fun. Rowan and Benjamin had seemed promising, but Narcissa had each time grown bored after less than two months. They didn't understand her, or what she wanted. For them if you weren't a girlfriend, a woman they could call _theirs_, you were simply a girl to enjoy, one not worthy of much effort besides making sure you were willing and, later, willing to come back.

Of course, there were other types of company, but by sixth and seventh year most people were set in their friendships, and Narcissa hated to admit that she was too proud to let anyone see that she was lonely.

After a few days of indecision, her attention fell on young Snape.

Severus Snape, a surly half-blood who had failed to conceal both his parentage and his lack of family fortune. Even his looks were unfortunate. He would grow to be a tall man, but as of now he was just gangly and stooped, with lanky hair that did his face no favors. The boy spent an inordinate amount of time with a Gryffindor mudblood, and had the distinction of being her cousin Sirius' favorite enemy. Narcissa's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. All things considered, that boy did not spend quite enough time in the hospital wing, and his Slytherin classmates didn't give him as much grief as one could have have expected.

There was no question about it. Snape had to be more advanced in magic than the average third year.

Snape was scribbling in the margins of his potions book. He shut his dark eyes for a few seconds at a time, and then scribbling once more. Three books, two potions and one arithmancy, were open on the table. Opposite him, cousin Reggie struggled with his own homework. He'd found in Snape a good tutor, and despite the fact Regulus spent half his allowance to buy that half-blood's time, Regulus treated him as if they were friends. Her youngest Black cousin was a Hufflepuff at heart. Everybody was fond of him (Narcissa first among them, Regulus was truly lovely), for all his sometimes exasperating neediness.

"What are you writing, Mr. Snape?"

Snape snapped his textbook shut. "Nothing."

"They say you change your potions. Do you want me to show you a spell of my own?"

The half-blood stared like she'd spoken a foreign language.

"That's not code for anything dirty," Reggie said with a wink. "Go see her spell."

Snape, now a healthy shade of red, muttered something that sounded distinctively like a muggle obscenity. He spelled the rest of his books shut and into his bag as he made to follow her. Bags enchanted to be bigger on the inside ran for dozens of galleons Narcissa knew Snape did not have. If he had enchanted it himself, he'd be already more interesting than most wizards in her year.

Narcissa now had the whole dorm of six to herself. Every day she came back from classes to three bunk beds, courtesy of the Hogwarts House Elves, and every day she transfigured them in pieces of furniture, playing with different arrangements. There were more than enough other bunks in the dorms for the other Slytherin students, and the Black girls having their own room had gone so long unchallenged that someone had yet to bring it up to Narcissa.

"I want you to look suitably impressed, Snape," she warned.

Snape bristled, but then relaxed slightly and gave her a courteous nod, proving he wasn't _completely_ devoid of social intelligence.

Narcissa silently pointed her wand towards herself and wove it in a series of concentric circles broken by jagged breaks. She thought of Vance, Shacklebolt and all those people who'd never been able to see beyond her looks. She poured her bitterness, her vindictiveness in the spell until the memories held less bite. In less than five seconds, she still looked like herself only _different_. Somewhat... unremarkable.

Severus shook his head. He grabbed the bag he'd set down and turned his back to her. "I've got studying to do."

The dorm door stayed shut.

Narcissa counted the seconds as Snape cursed and used every unlocking spell he knew (_five_, Narcissa knew just seven, and a half-blood third year shouldn't have known more than three).

He suddenly stiffened and dropped his bag, his back still to her. He was aware of her presence once more.

Narcissa smiled. "So, have you understood my spell ?"

When he turned back to face her, he was covering his eyes with his hand.

"It has a purpose not unlike a disillusionment charm, except I remember seeing you before I was suddenly convinced I should go study. Since I'm not losing my line of thought right now, the spell is triggered by sight. It actively directs my mind to think of other things : it's dark arts."

An intelligent boy. "Very good. I've dropped the spell, you can look."

Snape slowly lowered his hand and blinked, his dark eyes now entirely focused on her. Rudely so. _Had anyone ever bothered to teach him manners? _Nevertheless she could see an interest in his eyes that had not been there before. It was her _spell_, not her name or her beauty, that had captured his attention. Narcissa suspected she might be able to forgive Severus Snape a lot, just for that.

"Your turn now, Snape. Surprise me and I will teach you the incantation. Being seen but not _noticed_ can come in useful." Sirius and Potter went unmentioned, but Snape could hear quite clearly what she wasn't saying.

The awkward teen failed to conceal he now desperately wanted her spell. He pulled out his wand and pointed it on the transfigured full-sized triple mirror opposite the dorm door.

Suddenly, the two of them could not see themselves in the reflection anymore. Curious, Narcissa grabbed a pillow off her bed. The pillow vanished as soon as it touched her. _Interesting_. Snape hadn't frozen the picture in the mirror, something she could easily do. Although doing so, and _silently,_ was already a respectable feat for a third year

She summoned a vial of perfume from her bed-stand. It zoomed to her in the reflection, becoming invisible only when it reached her hand. _It's not movement that makes the reflections vanish then._

Eyebrows furrowed, Narcissa transfigured the pillow at her feet into a turtle. It was a sluggish, lumpy tortoise. Object-to-living transfiguration was not her forte. Nevertheless, the tortoise was alive, moving, and reflected quite normally.

A small appraising smile spread on Narcissa's lips. The mirror could tell what was human and what wasn't. _Not bad at all. _Narcissa couldn't recall any charm or enchantment that could do that. Oh she could enchant a given mirror to ignore _her_, or charm a specific person to not have a reflection, but she didn't know how to make a mirror blind to _all_ witches and wizards, unless she also made it also blind to every moving object.

And she hadn't quite finished assessing how this particular spell worked.

She met Snape's eyes as she levitated her vial of perfume, this time while standing between the mirror and the bottle. Snape didn't flinch, on the contrary, his eyes sparkled with challenge. Narcissa suspected he was having fun.

The crystal vial was perfectly reflected despite being hidden from the mirror by Narcissa's body. So it couldn't be that the mirror erased people's reflections and, though some clever time-based charm, used a memory of the surroundings to fill in the blanks. It was simply impossible for a mirror to reflect an object not in its line of sight.

"Were I to take a picture with a camera, would I see everything reflected as it should be?"

It was definitely a smile crinkling Snape's dark eyes. "Yes."

"You alter people's perception. They find themselves unable to see others' reflections." People were the spell's target. The mirror was just the recipient. Narcissa had seen the perfume's reflection because, with her body invisible, her mind _expected_ her to.

"It's fascinating that vision is the sense we rely on the most, but also the easiest to fool," for the first time, she heard confidence in Severus Snape's voice. He spoke slowly, his enthusiasm contained but clearly there. "I have been working on a sound spell to prevent eavesdroppers, but it yet has to work without silencing them to me in return."

Narcissa was rarely impressed. She liked being impressed. "What books have you been using for your spell theory?"

He glared, defensive once more. "The Hogwarts Library."

_Morgana, had they all been so blind just because he was so... unpolished?_

"Well, that won't do." She walked to her enchanted trunk. "Here, let me lend you a few."

"Why?" Snape managed after a few seconds of shock. "What do you want? I mean, _thank you, _Miss Black," he added awkwardly, his mistrust still evident.

Narcissa couldn't help smiling. "Call me Narcissa. I don't feel threatened by the idea you may have something to teach me." _My blood, upbringing and connections mean you can't possibly threaten my position._ "On the contrary, with Bella gone, I'm desperate for a challenge."

Snape looked a little thunderstruck. Narcissa could tell compliments would go a long way with the poor creature.

"As for what I want, since your friendship with Evans brings the two of you nothing but grief from others, I believe she still puts up with it because you're actually a worthy friend to have. So just... don't make me regret it."

Cousin Reggie had told her that Evans and Snape had grown up in the same muggle neighborhood, and that Snape had been the one to tell Evans about magic. Oddly, Narcissa wasn't bothered by his association with the mudblood. Perhaps because Snape was of too low breeding to be expected to know better. Perhaps because Evans didn't seem to take her presence at Hogwarts for granted. _"My third year muggleborn, Lily Evans, could have made a better potion!"_ was a sentence Professor Slughorn had actually said.

Now Snape was looking at Narcissa like she had grown a second head. And he kept at it too.

Narcissa sighed. "Alright, Severus, be honest with me, is status important to you?"

"Yes." His eyes, his tight shoulders, his whole bearing said too much. His posture screamed of insecurities. It wouldn't do at all.

"Then we have work to do. You're going to have to put up with me acting like a... well, it's my mother who taught me how to behave, but I promise it won't be quite that bad."

"_Why_? It's... it's just a few spells. Most Slytherin have the ability, if only they applied themselves."

"True, but they _don't. _You do. Don't undervalue yourself, or people will walk all over you."

He bristled. His eyes darted to the door. Then, finally, he relaxed slightly.

"Yes, mother," he muttered.

He blushed immediately, his body language screaming that he feared he'd been overly familiar.

Narcissa smiled, endeared despite herself. Severus was so obviously in need of validation. "You know, I think you'll survive this."

Perhaps, in a few month's time, he would stop looking so shocked at hearing her joke.

She hadn't had someone that was _hers_ since Bella had left. And who knows, maybe Severus really was smarter than her, in spells at least, and wouldn't _that_ be useful?

* * *

**And that's it for Narcissa's first part! **

**I think of her as someone who works within the system to get what she wants instead of fighting against it, but she's not any less eager to be able to be herself than her sisters or Sirius (no spoilers for Regulus). And of course, having grown up Black, she already has a lifetime's worth of baggage warping her conception of relationships. But that's what's so fun about writing the Blacks^^. **


	5. N: Narcissa Malfoy

**1973-74 - Narcissa, 7th year**

Unlike what Bellatrix suspected, Narcissa hadn't paid Lucius Malfoy any special kind of attention as a young teen. Oh, she'd paid attention to _all_ boys of suitable blood and status for her to marry, but she only started paying attention to Lucius specifically after she'd spied him and his father in Knockturn Alley.

The encounter had taken place during the last week of the Summer Holidays between Narcissa's sixth and seventh years. Dawn painted the oldest merchant street of the wizarding Isles soft blues and pinks. Knockturn was still asleep, shop windows magically obscured and only owls to peer upon the passersby. Bella had heard some artefacts were been auctioned at _Borkin and Burkes_, and Narcissa had agreed to come, if only to keep her sister out of trouble.

Abraxas Malfoy had evidently heard of the auction too, and he'd brought Lucius. The two men, locked in conversation as they strolled down the near-deserted alley, had yet to notice the Black sisters. The elder Malfoy's shoulder brushed against his son's, as if sharing a particularly juicy piece of gossip. Lucius, in contrast, stood tall and somewhat stiff.

"Father, don't be an embarrassment." There was no edge to Lucius' tone. If anything, he sounded fondly exasperated.

Lucius, with his straight, long blonde hair, and impeccably tailored robes, oozed old money and power. Like his father, he kept his wand concealed in a bejeweled cane. Lucius was everything one expected of an old-magic aristocrat, perhaps to the point that he tried _too_ hard. Abraxas Malfoy, on the other hand, was twice as broad as his son, with wavy hair that fell to his shoulders like a mane, and a gray-blonde beard too bushy to be entirely respectable. There was a friendliness to that man, something deceptively approachable. His slightly disheveled appearance, rather than do him discredit, marked him as someone who had nothing to prove.

Narcissa blinked when Abraxas swung his arm around Lucius' shoulders and leaned in even further to say something else. The laughter in the elder man's tone was obvious, even from a distance and despite the gloom. Lucius froze as he spotted them. Abraxas cleared his throat and straightened up, blue eyes still crinkled with humor.

It was so _different_ than the relationship Narcissa had with her own father that she kept thinking back on it.

As soon as she was back at Hogwarts, she asked Severus, aware the two men corresponded. Lucius had been in seventh year when Severus had been in his first, and apparently, Lucius had also seen Severus' potential. Severus now spoke to her easily of how he owed Lucius for his protection. Severus admitted that he hadn't been using _just_ the Hogwarts' Library to craft his spells by third year (he'd smirked then, proud Narcissa had been fooled into thinking he was so clever he'd learned spell-crafting with no outside help at all. She let him gloat, amused to see him so gleeful.)

The rest of her information, Narcissa went to ask her great-aunt Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia, who had been trying to get back in Bellatrix's good graces for the better part of two years, was remarkably welcoming (but Narcissa would never forget, how _Aunt Cass_y had toyed with Bellatrix before Bella had finally turned the tables on her). The deceptively slight woman lived in one of the most warded houses in Britain. Like her father and grandmother before her, she had devoted her life to expanding her notorious archives : the fifteenth-century mansion, expanded to the limits of what magic could do, was crammed with files, official documents, newspaper clippings, correspondence and diaries, most acquired through dubious means. Cassiopeia Black's walls held enough secrets to blackmail every prominent (and less prominent) family in the Isles, and a significant part of Europe, into ruin.

When the archives burned during the war, Narcissa didn't know whether to suspect Dumbledore's people, pureblood traditionalists or some opportunistic unaligned wizarding family.

To the outside world, Cassiopeia was a semi-retired politician. She spent half the year overseas, enjoying the hospitality of foreign diplomats scattered all over the world, and always returning home with a suitcase's worth of fresh intelligence. High society also knew her as a talented painter. Few outside the Black family knew that she had perfected the art of making portraits as thin and small as a playing card, enchanted with remarkable hearing and an unwavering loyalty to her. In exchange for access to her archives, Cassiopeia demanded that Narcissa slip one of the cards in Trajan Nott's heavily warded private study, and so Narcissa did. It was sad to see how easily some older men convinced themselves that a teenage girl like Narcissa was genuinely interested in an affair. After a few discreet flirtations during Hogsmeade weekends, he led her into his study, to avoid detection by his wife's house elf. Slipping Cassiopeia's portrait-spy behind one of the bookcases was child's play. When Narcissa 'changed her mind' after a couple more encounters, Nott dismissed it as a young woman's fickleness, and Narcissa had what she wanted.

The Malfoy fortune had been amassed before the invention of trans-atlantic portkeys, before magical settlers colonized the Americas. In the 16th and 17th centuries, hundreds of Spaniard ships sailed across the oceans with cargoes of silver, and dozens tragically perished in 'storms', their treasure 'lost' forever. The Malfoy library still held a whole shelf of weather and seafaring magic. In the early 18th Century, the Chinese Mage-Empress waged war against corruption and forced the Malfoys to abandon that particular trade route. They reconverted and diversified, from silver to weapons, tobacco, indigo and furs. In the 19th century, the North American MACUSA began frowning upon such actions and the Malfoys' days of piracy had come to an end.

Owning more money than wizards and witches could conceive of, the Malfoys had decided to then concentrate on curating their family tree. Gone were the days of marrying sirens or wealthy muggle corsairs. From the mid-nineteenth century onward, the Malfoys became _genteel_ and decided posterity would remember them as having always been so. After all, money could only get you so far : blood legitimacy had become required to reach the heights of society.

Abraxas Malfoy lived his life with the confidence of someone who knew nothing was out of his reach. That was what had drawn him to young Tom Riddle in the first place : Riddle had made Abraxas realize he could want even _more_, and that he may even be prepared to defer to Riddle to get it. For the longest time, Riddle thrilled Abraxas, because the older man could picture Riddle as Minister of Magic. _The Isles wouldn't know what hit them_. A man who understood magic and whose power made walls rattle. Who valued tradition but had no respect for those whose merit lay _only_ in their blood, for the corrupt and the weak. A man who had ambitions for their _nation_ and not just advancing a single family's agenda. It was too late, when Abraxas realized Riddle would not go the political route. That Voldemort wanted them all to bow.

Abraxas admitted all this to Narcissa, years later, when the Dark Lord was believed dead and Draco, for his fifth birthday, asked for the same snake as Father and Grandfather on his own unblemished little arm.

Abraxas' late sister and brother-in-law had left two little girls behind after a black-market scheme turned disaster during Grindewald's short-lived glory days. Abraxas raised them as (almost) his own. Like a good descendant of pirates, Abraxas had left an adult child in each continent : Aurelia to mold the finest Maur minds, and Vesta, ever the explorer, to scour Inca ruins for arcane knowledge and artefacts. His eldest, Alvis, had stopped talking about his work in India years ago, so Abraxas was satisfied to believe his ever knowledge-hungry son had become an Unspeakable, or whatever the foreigners called it there. Lucius, his youngest, preferred to be the leader of a flock of sheep than an equal among lions, so Abraxas groomed him for Ministerial counsel, here in England. Besides, Lucius was a _bona fide_ aristocrat : employment was beneath his station.

* * *

"Would you be happy, if you became the same kind of father as yours was to you?" Narcissa asked Lucius one night, as they watched the stars from the terrace of the Flint Estate, wrapped in warming charms. It was a late February Saturday. She was supposed to be at Hogwarts for the night, but knew Slughorn would say nothing.

Lucius was drunk from an elixir Narcissa had slipped him. She wasn't fool enough to think he'd trust her with the truth without some nudging. She and Lucius had met regularly during the Winter holidays, at various social functions. They'd flirted, dancing around each other and he'd stolen a kiss. She'd tried to seduce him then, not willing this to be a chase for her body.

_'I'd like to sleep with the whole of you,'_ he'd said, pulling back from a rather enjoyable kiss,_ 'not just your charming figure. There is no hurry. It's a great evening for a walk.'_

Narcissa had been impressed. She liked that he asked her what she thought, that he listened, and that he shared his own opinions even when he suspected she would disagree. His fine, handsome features did not hurt either.

"Ah, Father spoils me. I fear he wants to give me everything so I will stay dependent and in his shadow." His smile was fond, the exaggeration made obvious enough by his body language to satisfy the truth compulsion of the elixir. "The old man isn't a bad father, but I'm afraid I can't do him the honor of letting history think first '_Abraxas Malfoy_' when they hear our family name."

"If you had a child, you would also want them to be less than you?"

"I could tolerate to be in my heir's shadow, perhaps. But I would make them earn it."

She liked that Lucius' ambition wasn't just empty words. They had the same conception of what was proper. The same contempt for the purebloods whose crowning achievement was being born in the right family. He'd even admitted to her that he'd be curious to learn more about goblin magic, if such a thing was not impossible.

* * *

Their next conversation, in a snow-covered field near Malfoy Manor, was not so relaxed.

"I want to be furious that you drugged me, but I'm more puzzled that you asked me about my father's parenting of all things."

Narcissa didn't blink, as if him breaking through the haze of the elixir, stronger than an average memory curse, was nothing noteworthy. "Would you marry me, Lucius?"

A surprised smile softened his face, swiftly erased and replaced by a thoughtful frown. "I doubt your parents would approve. Parkinson strikes me as more their type."

Ah, Parkinson. Spineless, with mediocre parents that would be happy to defer to their Black in-laws. Neither Abraxas nor Lucius had much use or want for Cygnus and Druella Black. Uncle Orion held some political clout, and great-aunt Cassiopeia of course, but the rest of the Blacks of her parents' and grandparents' generation would politically never amount to much of anything other than a name on the Wizengamot's records.

"Propose to me publicly, at the next gala. Their hands will be tied." If Druella Black admitted her daughter had arranged her own wedding behind her back, she would be laughed at forever. And besides, Narcissa's mother couldn't publicly disapprove of _Lucius Malfoy_.

"Why?" He looked pleased at the prospect, but his gray eyes searched hers with hungry interest.

Narcissa smiled, not a cold smile, but a smile tightened by too many years spent in a disappointing family. Andromeda was dead to them. Sirius was Gryffindor and slipping away more every year. Cygnus and Druella, hardly model parents in the best of times, now looked suspiciously at the two daughters left in their grasp.

"My life is my own, not my parents'. I like you. I asked you about your father because I want a family that will stay united. A family to be proud of."

Lucius' eyes softened as he took her hand in his. He leaned intimately close to whisper teasingly in her ear. "Who says I don't have a better prospect?"

Narcissa gave him a pointed look. "You've met us all." There were perhaps a score suitable matches between fifteen and thirty-five, and that was counting the likes of Molly Prewett-now-Weasley. "Unless you would spurn me for a foreigner?"

"I don't know. I expected a bit more of a... challenge."

"Oh, Lucius, because you think the challenge is _having_ me?"

Lucius winced at the innuendo. "Let me pretend I'm the first, will you? But I'm curious, if _marriage_ of all things is not to be a challenge. What _is_ to be the challenge then?"

Narcissa smiled sweetly. "Me looking at you with pride in my eyes in ten years' time."

"Ah. _That_ kind of marriage." His gray eyes glinted, and Narcissa knew he was hers. "My mother left my father when I was nine years old, to go with some French castle-owner in Corsica."

_That_ Narcissa hadn't known. "I'd heard she'd died of dragon pox."

"She faked her death as a courtesy to father's reputation. And because she didn't want any owls. We see her every summer. You'll meet her, if you want."

"I'd be honored." She kissed his cheek, to thank him for the trust he'd just shown her. Such information spoke louder than any enthusiastic '_yes!'_.

She desperately hoped she had chosen well.

* * *

**1979-1980**

Still as a statue, Narcissa didn't scream. She didn't cry. She kept her face blank, because suddenly she didn't know if the man before her was friend or enemy. Bella... that had been inevitable, but _Lucius_?

"You will sleeping in a room of your own," she frostily told her husband, "until you can assure me your loyalty is first to this family." Her voice echoed in the grand Malfoy ball room. The portraits winced as they gazed upon the confrontation.

Lucius' face was a myriad of emotions, some was anger at her, but there was enough guilt, enough fear, that she decided _this family _still included him for now.

"Malfoys don't have the luxury of staying neutral. Remember what happened to Marius Bulstrode. The Dark Lord is the future. The new Ministry will be those who stood by him from the start. He... he is _powerful_, Cissy. He uses dark arts in ways that would have killed a lesser man, he-"

"Then soon he will be insane. That man already has your father, he has no need of _you._ What of our son, Lucius?" _What of you? What will that man ask of _you_? _It was so obvious now that all those political promises were an excuse for the war and chaos that Lord Voldemort thrived on.

Lucius' jaw hardened. "You underestimate the Dark Lord. He is what England needs to crawl out of the mud it has sunk in. But I will have my sister, Aurelia, send you a Portkey. She has a girl of her own. If it were to prove necessary... Mauritania has its own beauty."

Narcissa nodded grudgingly, one hand on her stomach. It was still flat, but the spells were unambiguous : a boy, conceived five weeks before. It had taken her over two years to get pregnant, and for the last six months, she and Lucius had been using every conception-aiding potion under the sun. "Good. You _still_ will be sleeping in a separate room. And I don't want to hear of you committing crimes you wouldn't admit to to our son."

Lucius nodded stiffly, an unhealthy pallor to his face. His acceptance both relieved and revolted her. She wouldn't have married him had he been the kind to feel entitled to her bed, but had Lucius been truly proud of his new mark, had he been unafraid, surely he would have argued.

_How dare you_, Narcissa screamed in the privacy of her own mind. _How dare you not put me first! _Lucius was supposed to be the one that stayed, the one that would make up for everything her family had failed at. It was supposed to be her, Lucius and their children. _How dare you!_

Before Lucius had come Severus, damned by his association with Regulus. Regulus was no longer the sweet child who'd told her to make sure Lucius loved her before marrying him. Her cousin had also lost his eldest sibling, but for him it had changed everything. Regulus was desperate to live up to the title that was now his to inherit, and the Dark Lord's promises, his sheer power, had ensnared him like a veela's allure. Narcissa had been relieved to see Severus sent to Morocco to study advanced potions-making. At least he could have this (and Narcissa didn't begrudge him his revenge against the Princes, she only feared what it would cost him). None of the four masters in England had accepted to take Severus in, the fools. Slughorn of all people should have known better, preferring Viviane Abbott's social charm and averagely-outstanding potion-making skills to Severus' genius.

Everything changed on December 21st 1979. Less than half the usual families were in attendance at the Ministry's Yule Gala, and none who openly supported Dumbledore's faction, the only one who still stood against the Dark Lord. Narcissa, seven months pregnant, had accompanied Lucius because she'd foolishly though that with children and teenagers present, they would be safe. It wasn't the Order of the Phoenix's _modus_ _operandi _to target families.

She'd wanted to forget about Regulus. Her wretched grief. The horrible doubts (s_he'd failed Reggie. Lucius' loyalties were shared. How could she hope to protect her baby?_) She'd desperately craved to lose herself in finery and music and pretend.

The sound of retching and shattering glasses put an abrupt end to the gathering.

The poisons were traced back to France, to two mudbloods who had left the country when the new laws had threatened to take their wands. Narcissa vaguely remembered them. Joshua Taylor, a Hufflepuff in Severus' year, and Anita McCarthy, a Gryffindor one year older. Narcissa never found out if the criminals had been caught. She was too busy trying not to lose her baby.

Nine died, four were great-grandparents, three were under ten years old. Over two dozen witches and wizards had to be kept weeks in an already overcrowded Saint Mungo's, safe only because of protective wards that surpassed all but Hogwarts'. The poison was too violent. Narcissa was not expected to keep her son. They told her that it would only be a matter of days. They offered to take him out: he could be made to breathe with the proper charms. She would be able to say goodbye.

That wasn't something she could accept. Her precious baby was still kicking. She could _feel_ him. She would not lose him.

Feverish and shivering, Narcissa stumbled out of the hospital and apparated home. She shrilly sent a house-elf to tell Severus that he had an antidote to make, _now_, and a second elf to steal samples of every food and drink Narcissa had touched, so he could identify the substances. It took her almost a minute to realize she'd splinched two fingers. Dizzy from pain, Narcissa sent yet another house elf to go fetch them in Saint Mungo's triage zone.

And Severus did. He found a way. Her tiny unborn boy was put in potion-induced stasis until the magical poisons left Narcissa's system entirely. It took weeks until she felt like herself again. She didn't dare think what would have happened had Severus not returned from his one year accelerated mastery a few weeks before Yule.

Severus experimented on pregnant mice and pigs until he was hopeful he could reverse the stasis safely. He and Lucius found heavily pregnant muggle women they could test potions on and monitor from a distance. After months of trials, four muggle newborns were finally born healthy. Severus, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, came to her, smiling at long last.

After fifteen endless months of pregnancy, and six of carrying a still baby that wouldn't grow, Draco was born, impossibly small still but breathing and crying. Narcissa cried, harder than she had ever cried, when he found her breast. It was on a beautiful June morning, her two-day-old son sleeping bundled against her chest, that Narcissa was told the poisons had made her barren.

The shadows of three sisters playing together, of spells been crafted in an underground dorm room, were forever relegated to wishful thinking.

"I'm going to spoil him," she warned. Her voice didn't shake. She wouldn't let it.

"He'll survive," Lucius said softly, his arm tight around her waist.

_Draco_. Her perfect little dragon.

* * *

**1981**

Seeing Severus' black cloak literally billow as he walked to her sitting room made Narcissa's lips twitch.

"I see you've been working hard on your authoritative demeanor." She was glad he was still crafting spells, even if they were just to intimidate Hogwarts students.

"Teenagers are little shits, and the older years remember me as a student. Dumbledore stressed I cannot hex or poison them, so inspiring terror is all I have left." His sneer softened into a thoughtful grimace. "At least now I live at Hogwarts. It'll take me years to uncover all the castle's secrets, and some ghosts do make interesting company."

Narcissa struggled to picture Severus as a Hogwarts Professor. Well, perhaps to the N.E.W.T.s students... Morgana's breath, his mastery potion had been _Wolfsbane_! The Isles needed his research, not him hovering over terrified first years.

"Dumbledore wants to make me _Head of Slytherin House_." The last was a furious hiss. "How could he think I'm... I fear he doesn't care if Slytherin has an underwhelming Head." He crossed his arms in defeat. "He tells me it's a struggle to get Ministry approval to recruit anybody, and that's why Prof- _Minerva_ McGonagall is deputy, professor _and_ Head of House, despite it being traditionally two, if not three, positions."

"I can't be at Hogwarts, but if you need help, or only a listening ear..."

Severus flashed her a small smile that was as overwhelmed as it was grateful. "My weight in Felix Felicis, that's what I need. How is Draco?"

And there came the reason Narcissa had invited Severus. Of course, she began by boasting of eighteen-months-old Draco's distinctly enunciated 'My name is Draco Malfoy', but soon, it was time to speak of serious things.

"Could you be his godfather?" They had yet to name anyone. As the war raged and the Dark Lord grew madder every month, Narcissa had been afraid that broadcasting their trust and affection for anyone would have put everyone involved at risk. "I'd _like_ you to be," she stressed, "but if they made you choose, is it in your power to choose Draco?"

One would have to be suicidal to be a double agent loyal to Dumbledore, but stupid beyond reason to be one loyal to the Dark Lord. Lucius had been naive : nobody was immune to dark arts. A year before his end, the Dark Lord had begun torturing his followers with the cruciatus (rarely Lucius, never Bella – but Bella had destroyed herself, joining her Lord in darkness-), waging destruction with no true purpose. The Dark Lord, gripped by paranoia, saw disloyalty in every corner. A double-agent would give the Dark Lord reason to pay extra attention to them, to be more suspicious than ever. There were a lot of things Narcissa couldn't claim to know about Severus, but he was an intelligent man.

"I am sorry, about Lily." It was a guess, but Narcissa had always been good at reading people.

Severus closed off completely. "Thank you, for saying that," he managed after a time. "But please never bring it up again." Silence fell over them, but the storm behind his dark eyes belied words yet to come. "They give credit to her son," he finally said.

Scorn thinned Narcissa's lips. "They don't know the first thing about magic. They sound like muggles. A _miracle. _There are no miracles. Just competent witches and wizards." She smiled at Draco, and then pointedly at Severus. She would not conceal her gratitude. He deserved that, at least. Long past were the years where she thought him just someone she could use.

Severus gazed upon her perfect baby boy, sleeping in his crib. His dark eyes were pained. "You're right, I cannot. I'm sorry, Narcissa. I will do my best, regardless. I... Ensuring Draco's healthy birth that year saved my sanity."

It wasn't fair. They weren't yet thirty. Regret was supposed to be something built over a lifetime. Not like this.

Narcissa opened her mouth, and closed it. Regulus' name was on her lips but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Her heart had broken when she'd learned her baby cousin had taken the mark before he'd even left Hogwarts and hid it from them. She'd been pregnant then, too exhausted, too scared to try to save him (she'd not even been able to deter Lucius, and anyway what was the point? It had been too late). Reggie had been a follower all his life. Eager, _too eager_, to please. And later embittered, dangerously hungry to prove himself. When he'd died, something of Narcissa had died with him. She'd made a point not to learn how or who ('_a traitor'_, Bella had simply said, and Narcissa had been stunned, because Regulus had always been the _least_ rebellious of them all). Narcissa wanted to remember Reggie, the wide-eyed kid who'd told her so easily he loved her. Who had made even Severus relax and smile fondly, because Regulus had _cared_ about that, making people feel good. As a child, and even as a young teen, Regulus had found it so easy to say what truly mattered.

Narcissa opened her mouth again, her cheeks coloring faintly at the awkwardness. But this was important.

"You're family, Severus, don't ever forget it."

She hugged him then. She wasn't entirely comfortable with it, and neither was he, but it was the kind of family she wanted. One that could hug, maybe not _every_ day, but one that _could_.

Lucius' elder brother, Alvis, came to England that Christmas. He had no ties to Death Eaters and living half-a-world away would be an advantage were the Dark Lord to rise again. Alvis took his vow to be godfather seriously, offering to keep in contact through mirrors between Christmas and the Summer, for their usual holiday in France. He had been the lone Ravenclaw among his Slytherin siblings, and sometimes painfully reminded Narcissa of Andromeda.

"Were you really under the Imperius?" he asked Lucius, a frown creasing his face. Unlike Lucius, he kept his blonde hair short and enchanted spectacles over his eyes. "Why would that man need to enslave you? You had a family he could take hostage."

Narcissa's eyebrows shot to her hairline at the sheer bluntness of the question. Lucius just sighed. "_Yes_. Not always, not when I took the mark, but often enough towards the end. It seems he didn't trust me enough not to. Father believes the Dark Lord didn't torture loyalty into me instead because he and father were friends of sorts once, and because the Dark Lord couldn't afford to lose our monetary and political support."

_Who knew?_ _In the throes of dark magic, what remained of old bonds? _Perhaps the Dark Lord had imperioed Lucius to make sure things were done exactly his way. Perhaps that power-drunk murderer had just done it because he could. In front of his big brother, Lucius didn't bother to conceal the fear the mention of the Dark Lord still filled him with.

A childish voice dispelled her dark thoughts. "Fa-er, fa-er, _up_!"

Draco, trailed by a watchful house-elf, shakily toddled up to them with his little arms towards the ceiling. Lucius' smile was more contained than Narcissa's, but his eyes shone with love and pride as he lifted his son in his arms. Narcissa couldn't remember such an expression ever gracing her own father's face.

Narcissa was a Malfoy now. Alvis called her 'sister'. She called Alvis 'brother', Abraxas 'father', and decided to forget she had ever been a Black. No more tapestries with charred holes, no more children who wondered why their parents didn't love them.

Narcissa had been unprepared for the hate that had filled her after Draco had been born. Hate directed at her parents, at Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion, and at her grandparents, who hadn't been much better parents themselves. _How could they?_ She looked at Draco, so beautiful and joyful and trusting, and all the excuses, all the rationalizations she'd crafted during the last twenty-five years, were swept away like cobwebs. _Their own children! How could they? _

Impulsively, she sent Andromeda a card. A simple photograph of her beautiful Draco, with a single written line: '_I'm raising him a Malfoy_'. Her sister's betrayal still stung deep, but if Narcissa could still manage to be polite to her mother and her father in public, if she could bear to visit them occasionally for dinner, then a card to Andromeda was something she could do.

* * *

**There will be a third chapter for Narcissa, set after the second wizarding war, to close this arc. ****Then it'll be Bellatrix's turn.**


	6. N: Sister Lost, Sister Found

**1996 - **

"Thank you, Bella," Narcissa said, willing her voice steady. Willing it warm.

Her shoulders threatened to droop unseemingly. Narcissa kept them straight. The Dark Lord wouldn't be leaving the Manor anytime soon. She couldn't allow the situation to overwhelm her.

The two witches had just apparated at the edge of Malfoy Manor, half a country away from that dreary Spinner's End. Foreign stands of magic, _Severus_' magic, pulsed under Narcissa's skin, entwined in hers by the vow's unbreakable bindings. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was _there_, and would not abate until the vow was fulfilled.

Narcissa's chest was tight. She should have been relieved, and she _was_, but Draco was still a pawn to the Dark Lord, and now she had put Severus in even more danger than he already was.

_But what choice did she have? How else could she protect her Draco?_

"I think it's because his childhood was happy," Bellatrix muttered, a thoughtful, faraway look on her face.

_What, Severus'?_ "Who?"

"Rodolphus. That's why there's nothing much left of him. Me... Well, Cousin Sirius, too, he didn't act all that madder than usual, did he? Us Blacks don't need happy memories to remember who we are."

_Who we are._ Narcissa's muscles, from neck to calf, were painfully stiff. Bella, the old, whole, Bella, would never have murdered cousin Sirius.

"I barely remember you," Bella admitted, her lips puckered in a pout as they walked arm-in-arm through the gardens. Bella was always touching Narcissa when they were alone. But a sister eager for physical contact was hardly the worst consequence of Bella's sentence in Azkaban. White peacocks pranced around, oblivious to the Manor's new permanent guests. "I remember some moments, fights... Silly arguments that shouldn't have been such terrible memories... We cared a lot about each other, once, didn't we?"

Her tone held annoyance, wistfulness, rather than true regret. As if she couldn't quite grasp what she had lost. She stared at Narcissa with benevolent curiosity, a pale shadow of what had once been. Narcissa was no fool. Bella sought her out because she was hungry for company, hungry for memories that felt _real_, and the Dark Lord was too busy to indulge her every minute of every day.

"I still care about you." Narcissa willed her tone to stay pleasant. "You remember _him_."

Bella's left hand went to her forearm, her fingertips brushing the Dark Mark in reverent caress. "_Yes_. Nobody can alter the Dark Lord's mark. He showed me how to bind my memories of him, of _us_, to the mark, after that feckless Flint Obliviated me." Bella giggled, a woman-child's giggle, but thick with relief. "I remember almost everything."

Narcissa flinched. It hurt. Oh, many things hurt these days, but _this_ \- Bella's memories of her, of everything good they had lived through, were shadows, hollowed out like they had been the story of someone else's life.

Bella's memories of the Dark Lord were vivid and vibrant.

He was the only person she remembered, _truly_ remembered, crafting spells with. The only one whose words of praise echoed in her mind. Whose smile was easily remembered (although that particular smile had been lost forever sometime during the last couple of years of the war). When Bella thought of what it meant to be cared for, she had no other point of reference than the Dark Lord.

No wonder he was her everything.

"Why are you crying, little sister?"

Bellatrix said the word 's_ister'_ like she was trying it out.

Narcissa smiled. She tried to smile at Bella like she had smiled when they'd been girls. Two decades of frayed bonds tightened her eyes and cheeks, but with Bella in front of her, so alive in her form-hugging black dress, it wasn't _that_ hard. As complicated as things were, Narcissa had missed her terribly. "Because I remember you. Thank you, for being my bonder today."

"Well, I couldn't have you asking anybody else... I didn't expect Snape to accept." Bella's face was an open book. Pleasure at being thanked, a somewhat fond possessiveness as she talked of Narcissa, surprise and suspicion as she mentioned Severus. Bella had always been the less guarded of the Black sisters, but this was something else. Like a small child in a woman's body, stripped of the layers age and wisdom wrapped people in.

"He's wanted to kill Dumbledore for a long time." Narcissa couldn't honestly claim to know of Severus' feelings regarding the Headmaster. But these were not times for honesty. Every side had its narratives, and the least she could do was speak up for Severus. "Can you imagine, teaching lazy, rude children every day for a decade and having to say 'thank you' to Dumbledore for the opportunity? By refusing him an official trial, Dumbledore's protection was slavery. Hogwarts has been his jail all these years."

Bellatrix snorted. "Did Sevvie truly expect anything else? You... _you_ think him loyal to our Lord?"

_Our Lord._ Narcissa was proud she didn't flinch. "Absolutely. Why don't you?

Bella opened her mouth. She closed it. The light in her eyes sharpened, making her look more focused, more entirely _there_, for an instant. "People are such a disappointment, little sister. I... It's so _boring_, to be the most powerful, the most advanced in any room." She hummed to herself, as if she was organizing her thoughts, or perhaps hunting for a memory. She finally shook her head, a graceless jerking motion. "Sevvie, he's the son of a muggle and a disgrace, but he's still something, isn't he? I don't believe he's loyal because I can't believe _this_ is his best. He surprised me today." She tilted her head, her lips twitching into a considering smile. "Maybe he's loyal to _you, _pretty Cissy."

"He's loyal to the Dark Lord," Narcissa said tightly, her heart hammering with the brittle fear that nowadays clung to her like an extra layer of clothes, "but he has always been a good friend of the family. Draco looks up to him."

Something unpleasant darkened Bella's features. "_Soooo_, do you think you could have gotten me out of Azkaban, if it hadn't been for your little heir? Or, one small, short little visit, at least?"

Chill seeped in Narcissa's veins. Even at her _best_, Bella had been possessive and jealous.

"Children were never something _I_ wanted," Bellatrix pursued before Narcissa could answer. Bella spoke a lot these days, perhaps to make up for all this time spent alone. "Meda didn't want kids either, right? Can you believe that muggle made a _Metamorphmagus_... Decent dueler, pity they ruined her." Bella's smile hardened, her cheeks flushed with that magic-fueled rage she powered her Dark with. Her voice rose, almost a shriek. "And I. can't. kill. her! That's _your_ spell, Cissy, protecting Meda, her muggle, and Meda's whelp." Bella's eyes narrowed. She wasn't looking at Narcissa as she waved her arm, wand in hand, in slow, thoughtful circles. There was nothing to target, except perhaps a lingering peacock. "You should kidnap the Metamorph, make her ours through mind arts and make her a Black." She shook her head, disgust twisting her lips. "Your boy's a _Malfoy_. So soft and whiny... You wanted a girl anyway, no?"

Narcissa nodded slowly, as if she was considering it. As if all this didn't make her want to scream, to flee. To bury herself in books in the hope of inventing a Time-Turner able to fix all _this_.

"Do you want ice-cream? You liked ice-cream," she said instead. They had almost reached the Manor's front doors, but Narcissa had no wish to go inside.

"Do I really? I can't recall."

Narcissa squeezed her sister's arm. "_Exactly_."

Excitement widened Bellatrix's eyes. "Fine. Let's go."

Had Narcissa anticipated that Bella's newfound passion for ice-cream would have lead to her kidnapping Florean Fortescue, she would have led Bella to a muggle shop, and even let her pick a muggle to play with along with a three-flavors cone.

Once Bella had figured how to operate Fortescue's magical ice-cream maker on her own, the poor man was used to test the wards around Malfoy's long-empty cells and the Dark Lord's interrogation techniques (it wouldn't do if a person convinced themselves of untrue facts in order to put an end to torture). It was Rodolphus who killed Fortescue, to prove he could still be useful for _something_. Rodolphus had become a husk of the cheerful, irreverent man Narcissa remembered. Bella rarely looked at her husband, even when the Dark Lord gathered them in the same room, as if the sight of him pained and disgusted her. She demanded to be called 'Ms Black' and only answered to 'Lestrange' if the answer was to be a hex.

* * *

"My dear, you look much better than you must feel," the enchanted mirror said. "Very elegant."

Narcissa gave the full-length mirror a tight-lipped smile as she magically adjusted her layered dark-purple dress. If she lost any more weight, she would have to wear glamours to avoid looking emaciated. She flexed her fingers. _Open. Closed. Open_. Her arm burned. Her whole body had burned, but her arm kept burning despite the last cruciatus having been cast over a day ago.

The Dark Lord had learned of Draco's failed plan to get an a cursed opal necklace to Dumbledore.

_"You ordered someone under the imperius to cast an imperius themselves?" the Dark Lord mocked as Draco shivered on one knee, his head bowed and his shoulders braced for a blow. "The Dark Arts require their caster's full commitment. How could an imperiused person, especially an unremarkable light witch like Rosemerta, possibly succeed? No wonder the Bell girl gave herself away. Tell me, Draco, didn't your parents bother to teach you the basics of magic?"_

Narcissa was glad it had been her and Lucius rather than Draco. Draco was drowning in panic and despair. She desperately wished he'd start listening to Severus.

She started when the bedroom's door flew open. "Cissy!"

"Cissy! Come, I -" Bellatrix froze as she noticed Narcissa's tremors. She scrunched her face up and sighed loudly. "You should've taught him better, Cissy. England doesn't need any more spoiled kids. Mind you, he must have gotten Malfoy brains, 'cause it's not like Mother and Father taught _us_ all that much. We didn't need to be told to learn."

"If it hadn't been for those mudbloods, I could've given him a sibling." Narcissa spat, desperate for an outlet for her own fury. "Maybe then, things would have been different."

Bella patted her shoulder. "I'll ask the Dark Lord to just _tell_ Draco he's torturing you. Don't tell anybody, though, or he'll have to _crucio_ you for real."

"Thank you," Narcissa managed. And she _was_ grateful. Despite her sister blaming _her_ for the torture she had been put under. Bella interceding for her was a true favor. It filled her with hope, for the two of them. "Why were you looking for me?"

Bella grinned. "Yes! I have something to show you. The Dark Lord left me some to experiment."

_Some what? _Bella's eyes shone with excitement, but there was something else there. She was clutching her wand too tightly. Narcissa took her own wand out before they apparated, her heartbeat accelerating.

The place was a kind of stable, with wooden walls and a beaten earth floor. Four grimy stalls were obscured by magic, making it impossible to see what was kept inside. The air smelled of _nothing_, betraying the presence of a freshening enchantment. Light filtered poorly through dusty glass windows, but the place hummed with magic. A _lot_ of magic. It stank of recently raised crude wards. As if someone with too much power but too little know-how -or maybe just no patience at all- had lathered the place with enough dark wards to contain a pack of werewolves.

Bella took a shuddering breath. "Alright, here it goes. Watch out, I've been starving it." She waved her wand at one of the stalls.

"Starving what-" An sudden, unnatural chill cut off Narcissa's question.

She stumbled. Her vision blurred as all her senses were dragged to another time. _"I'm so sorry, Lady Malfoy. You won't be able to conceive any more children." _Her occlumency shields slammed into place, dulling the accursed voice.

"_Expecto Pa-_"

"No!" Bellatrix shrieked. "Let me! Look!"

The chill intensified. New voices rose in her mind.

_An unnatural cruel voice. "Draco, you will kill Albus Dumbledore to redeem your family. You will succeed or you will die." _

_Her teen-aged sister, raw and disbelieving. "A muggle! Surely she's bewitched! Meda would never leave us for a muggle!"_

Narcissa gasped for breath as the hooded creature floated – It wasn't floating _towards_ her. It was floating backwards. It was trying to _flee _as much as it was attacking them.

_Ten-year-old Draco, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. "Mother, I think Father is crying. Is grandfather dead?"_

_Lucius, a coiled black snake pulsing on his pale forearm_. _"The Dark Lord is the future."_

Somewhere close to her, Bella chanted in Latin. Under the dementor's assault, Narcissa couldn't make out the words. She shut her eyes, focusing on her mental defenses lest she scream or lose control of her magic. She pushed the memories away before they could take root, instinctively trying to focus on three little girls' shared laughter instead.

_Draco, screaming under the cruciatus._

Gasping, she remembered Severus' words._ "Fill your mind with a bad memory, bad enough to satisfy the dementor, but manageable. One that does not make you lose control."_

Narcissa focused on giggles of a broken mind. On darkness dancing behind painfully familiar eyes. _"I killed Sirius, the traitor."_

Her eyes slowly cleared. Bellatrix was still chanting. Narcissa was half-sprawled against one of the grimy walls. She hastily put herself together.

_"Avada Kedavra, straight to the chest!" Bella giggled, eyes wild. "The Veil claimed him."_

The Dementor, a hooded nightmare bundled in tattered clothes, looked... bulkier, but also _less_. Magic shimmered all around it, weighting it down. Narcissa sucked in a breath. The chill was gone.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Bellatrix howled.

An inhuman screech silenced Narcissa's nightmares. It happened in less than a second, as if a force had shredded the hooded wraith from the inside. The once-dementor became a pile of grayish... _goo_, no larger than a a grown man's foot.

Bella's triumphant laughter filled the abandoned stables. "I've been thinking of ways to destroy those abominations since my first days in Azkaban!" Sweat ran down her temples and her heaving chest. Her eyes were mad, madder than usual. A grin lit her face, of the kind that belonged on an acromantula who had spotted an unsupervised child.

Narcissa stared at where the dementor had stood just seconds before. Dementors weren't something you _destroyed_. Magic just... slipped around them. Their appearance could make one question how _living_ they were, but they had nothing in common with ghosts. They were shifted in time, here but also echoes of a kind. From there came their ability to feed on the feelings attached to memories. Only patroni, born of the most unequivocal happiness, existing in the physical world but also as memories, could block or strike them.

"You... _how_?"

"I powered this with hope." Bella's smile softened. For the first time, Narcissa gazed upon the woman and saw _her sister, _the one she'd lost in her early twenties_._ She found herself smiling back, amazed. "I didn't remember we'd made that spell, Cissy, not before Meda's whelp survived my blasting curse in the Hall of Prophecies. Now I remember! And I remember _how_. It's easier when I know what to look for."

"Dementors don't _just_ feed on our happy memories," Bella's lecturing tone was breathless and passionate. "They can't resist happiness, so they suck it out of our mind, shattering everything in their path. But they revel in nightmares too. The worst of the worst, dragged from our pasts until it becomes our present once again. Awful emotions are better savored like that." Bellatrix swung her arm around Narcissa's shoulder. "There's a spell the Dark Lord invented, to make time go slower for him for a handful of seconds. He taught it to me, before Azkaban. It opens a crack in time." So _that_ was how those two managed to duel so impossibly fast. "I did it Cissy! I dragged the dementor wholly to our time so it couldn't escape the killing curse. Hope found me the right crack in time, see. Hope's just not really in the present, see? Not like the other feelings."

Narcissa's smile broadened. She remembered. It was the reason why the three of them had chosen hope to power the blood-bindings they'd cast on themselves as teenagers. Fear made powerful shields and facilitated escape, rage fueled hexes and curses, jealousy and want could unravel wards and enchantments, but hope was special in that it could brush away a reality you disliked and favor one you did. Crafted in the hope Meda, Bella and Cissy would always be the best kind of family, the blood-bindings refused to let spells unworthy of that sisterhood affect their intended target. Offensive hexes and curses were therefore diminished, the excess power absorbed. And none of them, not even Bellatrix, could cast a spell capable of overpowering a bond willed by three.

_"The other feelings, they're much more present," _Andromeda had told them in those long-gone days, as they excitedly sat together in their Hogwarts dorm._ "Try to be fully there, to smell, feel, see all that is around you and fiercely _hope_. It's hard. Because hope takes you out of the moment and takes you to what you wish to be."_

Of course, too much hope-fueled magicks would steal one away from the present. All dark arts came at a price.

"You have permission to destroy them _all_?"

Grinning, Bella whipped her wand. The remnants-of-dementor morphed into a fire-cracker. It exploded with a bang, filling the air with a acrid sulfur smell.

"We don't need those abominations," she declared. "We can make our own prison. When the Isles will have bowed to the Dark Lord, he'll let me kill them all."

"He doesn't need them, for Europe?"

"I'm working on giving him something better. You should help me, little sister. It'll be easy for me to convince him you're valuable, then."

"Of course, I'll be happy to help you." And Narcissa would. It wasn't just a matter of what was right, or of what Narcissa's heart craved. It was a matter of survival. She _needed_ her sister back.

And so, together, they began to make monsters.

Luckily, Narcissa was able to enchant a fail-safe within the monsters. During the Battle of Hogwarts, nobody but Bellatrix, who was by then too busy fighting for her life, and the Dark Lord, too obsessed by the Elder Wand and the prophecy, realized that the Death Eater's inferi should have much more dangerous than usual reanimated undead.

* * *

**1998 - after Voldemort's death**

Narcissa aimlessly walked the Manor's halls, her eyes drinking in details she had stopped seeing years ago. The Manor, as grand as it was, had never been truly _hers_, but perhaps houses passed down through generations of pureblood were never meant to feel quite like home.

Narcissa's figures brushed the painted-stone rendering of Morgana, tall like her forearm and clad in the finest miniature clothes. One of the few objects she had taken from the bedroom she had grown in. Her hand spasmed briefly. She willed it still, willed herself to feel glad that the stilling only took four seconds, when it was still eight a few weeks before.

She refused to let herself break.

She had lost in status and wealth, but it seemed like a reasonable price to pay to get the Dark Lord out of the Manor. She tried not to think of the fact nobody burst into her bedroom to demand her company these days. In Molly Weasley's place, she would have done the same thing.

An engraving in the chandelier had her pause. _This was no heraldry she recognized. ___Could it date back to the Malfoy's piracy days?__

Malfoy Manor would soon be requisitioned by the Ministry to house those who had lost theirs. Narcissa had already begun sending the more valuable memorabilia to Lucius' siblings. She took photographs of the rooms, corridors and gardens, in the hope it would help her grieve. She didn't let Lucius see her. He refused to accept the Manor may be lost to them.

Narcissa's shoulders drooped in defeat. She wasn't sure if her marriage could survive all this. Lucius was... _brittle_, these days. In mind and body. She knew not to blame him entirely, he'd had little choice once the Dark Lord had come back, but the name Malfoy left a bad taste in her mouth these days, like Black once had.

Perhaps it was time to leave England. For now she stayed only because Draco would not hear of leaving.

No. That wasn't true. There was also Andromeda. __Meda__.

Narcissa had never known how to ask for forgiveness. Poise, perfect pureblood manners, those had come naturally to her, but learning forgiveness had never been needed (in truth, she had worked _very_ hard at her poise and manners, but nobody had noticed, so she flattered herself by thinking it was all natural talent. But then, wasn't that the crux of the matter, the sickness that had led to the war: valuing birth, blood, talent, all the things one couldn't control, over one's actual achievements?)

A part of her rebelled still. _Why did ___she___ have to be the one to forgive?_

They had promised each other _always_, and Meda had walked away as if it meant nothing.

No, not nothing. Narcissa had read Andromeda's letters. It had just not meant_ enough_.

Nevertheless, what was stopping Andromeda from coming to her __now__?

After weeks of dithering, Narcissa decided pettiness didn't suit her. Andromeda had lost her home, buried husband and daughter, and was caring for an infant. She probably had little time to spare a thought for her estranged little sister.

It was in tailored pale-gray pants, heel and a broad-shouldered jacket, a look she had seen on a shop-mannequin in central London (a place she had gathered that muggles of a certain class chose their clothes), that Narcissa walked the outskirts of a small town called Warwick. It was a pleasant early summer morning, the haze of white clouds still filtering sunlight. When passing muggles turned to look, it was with appraisal rather than confusion or disapproval, so Narcissa decided she had not gone wrong with her disguise. She could have disillusioned herself and avoided stares altogether, but these days, ignorant muggles were the only ones who didn't look upon her with pity or hostility.

She stopped in front of the house she knew to be Andromeda's. It was a little removed from the town itself, concealed by a cluster of trees. From the outside it looked like an abandoned muggle mansion that had known its glory days generations past. Behind a tangle of weeds, one could glimpse broken wooden shutters, cracked paint and a moss-spotted leaking roof.

The hair on the nape of Narcissa's neck rose as she gingerly stepped towards the house, between an overgrown rosebush and a sad looking birch. Her magic stirred, recognizing blood-kin. Narcissa sucked in a breath. Behind the wards, the mansion's true aspect was _better_, but still dreadfully neglected. This was not a home, only a refuge.

She froze when Andromeda appeared. It had been years since Narcissa had so much as caught a glimpse of her eldest sister. Her black hair was cut short, her face lined, her shapely body hugged by a light blue dress. She was still attractive, and looked painfully like Bella, or the person Bella could have been.

"Narcissa." Andromeda's body was stiff and her lips pinched. "What do you want ?"

Narcissa swallowed. She didn't know how to do this. In her mind, imagining the conversation had only drawn blanks. Suddenly she was sixteen again, desperately longing for her big sister. She recognized now that she'd buried her grief under pride, anger, betrayal. She was tired of pretending.

She mustered a smile. It came out sad. "I want my sister. If we never talk again after this, at least it will be truly our choice, and not... _circumstances_."

Andromeda looked down. She shook her head slowly, exhaustion creasing her features. "I'm not at my best."

"I know. I'm sorry. I can't begin to imagine. I... I mourn Bella, who she was." _Who I foolishly thought she could become again._ "I'm sorry about Sirius. I... I chose Draco, all those years ago. It was made clear I would have paid dearly for any interest in Azkaban."

"It was Dumbledore's job to give Sirius justice. His actual job, not just his moral responsibility. Not yours. Unless you knew specifically about Pettigrew, this is not something I blame you for." Andromeda took a slow breath and invited her inside. "I stopped mourning Bella years ago, but I understand." A small smile finally graced her lips. "Classy muggle clothes, little sister."

"I tried," Narcissa said, legs heavy with relief as she entered the home. It was terribly muggle, with bare walls except for garish flowered wallpaper and odd lighting appliances left unused. Illumination charms floated around the living room, but even the furniture looked like it had been abandoned along with the house. Andromeda had magically fixed everything to be serviceable, but no attention had been paid to appearance.

A fierce nostalgia gripped Narcissa as she spotted the baby, lying on his stomach on a play-mat. His hair was a shocking unnatural orange, and his face scrunched up in concentration as his chubby arms clumsily reached for slow moving blocks.

"Teddy's angry. He doesn't understand why his parents don't come back."

Narcissa could hear the cry for help in Meda's low tone. She had nothing to answer to it. No fix to offer except words. "You'll be a wonderful grandmother."

Silence answered her, thick with grief. Narcissa took a shaky breath. "I always wanted more than one child."

Andromeda's sad eyes flickered to hers. She had always been less intense, more empathetic, than Bella. "You couldn't?"

So Narcissa told her. And slowly they opened up to the other, stirring awake childhood habits, memories of long buried intimacy.

"Did you know Dora threw her auror's entry exam?" Meda waved her wand, making Teddy's cubes cartwheel and drawing a few giggles out of the little boy. "Alastor suggested that being too good would encourage those who used the excuse that she was Bellatrix's niece to deny her the position."

"What was their actual problem? Surely a Hufflepuff half-blood isn't _such_ a disgrace?"

Andromeda's lips curled. "Their problem was that Dora was the kind of person that Mad-Eye Moody would mentor. The kind that might speak up about corruption or incompetence. She made them look bad. So she was outstandingly average during her exams and got the job."

It spoke of the sad state of affairs that Narcissa wasn't even that surprised. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry I never got to know her."

"It's the people like her who die." Meda's voice shook, anger tightening her shoulders. "The competent, the brave, those who wants things better. When the war's over, the cowardly, the mediocre, they leave their hiding places and we're trusting them to build our future."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt was on the front lines. I thought he had your respect." Something hollow filled Narcissa's stomach. _If even the Order had lost hope -_

Meda sighed. "Shacklebolt is a good man, but... They're exhausted. We all are. I see Harry, he really wants to do right by Teddy, but... He's himself so hurt, Cissy. He has so much to work through."

_Didn't they all?_ Of course, __Harry Potter__ of all people... _Between the Prophet's abuse, the war and..._

Narcissa took a sharp breath as memories of Sirius, a young, passionate Sirius, threatened to distract her. "Is Potter a Potter, or a Black ?"

"He's... conflicted."

"You could be the head of house Black, Meda, and Teddy after you. You could take your name back." The scandal hadn't just been that Andromeda had eloped with a muggleborn; it's that she had taken his muggle name. If he had married her as Edward Black, they would of course _both_ have been disowned by Uncle Orion, but the message would have been different. It would first and foremost have been a family affair. Andromeda would not have been seen as disavowing the whole of pureblood society.

"You also could reclaim the name Black."

Narcissa fell silent. Her deepest dream had been a family united, unbreakable. _Lucius' shuddering frame as he was wracked by nightmares, his slouched form as he spent his days staring wordlessly at the Malfoy grounds, picking up feathers shed by his late father's beloved white peacocks..._

"Lucius' sister, the one in Mauritania, she knows an excellent mind-healer there," Narcissa muttered after a time. "I must convince him to go."

"You were happy, with Lucius?" Meda didn't ask if she was happy _now_. It seemed that despite twenty years apart she didn't have to.

Narcissa blinked. "Oh yes. I... if it had not been for the Dark Lord... Perhaps we should have left England when Draco was born. Lucius wanted to send him to Durmstrang: he wished Draco to be forced to meet people he would have to prove himself to. I didn't want him in a school run by a Death Eater. I... I __liked__ Hogwarts."

Andromeda's soft smile was heavy with understanding. "I was exceedingly grateful when Dumbledore allowed Nymphadora to attend."

Her hand reached out for Narcissa's. Narcissa found herself grasping it, unbalanced by how foreign and yet familiar the grip was. She blinked tears out of her eyes.

This silence was still painful, but more manageable. Narcissa was glad she had come.

"Did you see the article on Regulus? Sirius' name has finally been publicly cleared." _To think the Black name may ___not___ be a curse anymore._ "Are the rumors they wish to turn the story of your elopement into a novel true?"

Meda grimaced. "Unfortunately, yes."

"We could be a family again. We can't possibly do a worse job at it than the first time around."

_That_ tore a chuckle from the older witch. "Does Draco truly wish to meet Teddy?"

Draco, pale, painfully skinny, and wracked by nightmares. Unlike Narcissa, who owned her share of darkness, who had grown into her power before the Dark Lord had violated their lives, Draco had been barely more than a child when he had been made a slave to the monster's whims.

No child should see their parents scream and writhe under cruciatus. Narcissa was painfully aware that the only reason it hadn't been worse for _her_ was Bellatrix's interference (although the more Bella remembered, the more she grew jealous of Draco and Lucius, and Narcissa suspected that Bella had wanted her to pay for refusing to disavow them, for valuing them more than Bella herself), and, of course, Severus.

Severus, so very skilled at keeping their paranoid Lord convinced of his loyalty, just not enough to survive the final battle.

Narcissa blinked more tears out of her eyes. _Morgana, she was tired of crying._ "I'd be happy to bring Draco over," she managed.

"If he comes to my house, I'm not going to put up with attitude I'd have punished in my daughter."

Narcissa took a sharp breath. She was tired of having to defend her son to her sisters. "I'm not asking you to. He'll survive. Do..." a soft sigh left her lips. "Do you truly believe all this was our fault? For prizing blood purity?"

"Not wholly, but it doesn't help. I do despise you for not caring about the state of things as long as you had power and comfort." Narcissa flinched. "And I'm saddened you could find it in you to overlook your husband's Dark Mark."

_Saddened_. As if Narcissa was guilty of being unable to hold high standards. Sudden fury filled her. Fury she didn't know what to do with. She couldn't, she _wouldn't_ be scathing with Andromeda. Perhaps it was better, that they could air their grievances. "I hear you," she simply said.

"We need to stop focusing on blood and start valuing merit and integrity. Kingsley speaks of reducing the Ministry's size by more than half. It's ridiculous that close to a sixth of working witches and wizards hold administrative positions. Petty politics and a waste of galleons, that's all it is. An excuse to give a position to every mediocre second cousin in the Isles. When England was as its peak, we were a nation of artisans, magic crafters... There are talks to make spell-crafting a third year elective at Hogwarts once more. Perhaps we might even have a sane rational discussion about dark arts one of these days..."

Narcissa nodded, daring to hope. "But you fear it is just talk." She straightened, willing calm and confidence back on her face. "Would you say Kingsley is vulnerable to seductive blondes? I could make sure he delivers."

Andromeda stared, then she laughed. For a second, they were girls again. "Tell me you aren't serious."

"No." Narcissa's smile vanished as grief tightened her chest. She missed Lucius. _Her_ Lucius. "I'm not prepared to mourn my marriage just yet."

There was nothing awkward about Andromeda's hug, or Narcissa's return of the embrace.

So much had been lost, but perhaps the tattered remains of House Black was something they could put back together.

* * *

Dawn had barely broken the horizon when the sensation of her face been dipped in lukewarm water-not-wet jolted Narcissa awake.

A dolphin patronus hovered by her bed, its sleek silver body shimmering in the air. It removed its snout from her face. Around its neck hung a wooden pendant.

"Narcissa, come." Andromeda's voice, quiet but thick with purpose. "I need you for this. The spell requires two. It's about Edward. And Bella. The necklace is a portkey."

Narcissa blinked the sleep out of her eyes. She'd seen Andromeda the previous morning. She still had to speak to Draco or Lucius about it.

Nevertheless, there was no question of not answering her sister's summons.

_A spell._ Instead of warming charms and her usual hair-styling enchantments, Narcissa hastily summoned a cashmere shawl and twisted her blonde hair into a tight bun. Layering spells could be tricky, so better she come with as little magic on her as possible.

Their three surviving house elves had been bound to other families by Ministry order after the Dark Lord's death, so Narcissa left a note for her husband and son to find. She spelled the bed to make itself, sadness filling her at the sight. After the first war, she'd vowed she'd never have reason not to share a room with Lucius again. _So much for vows..._

The patronus nudged her once more. "Come."

The portkey's tug was so gentle Narcissa was surprised to arrive much farther than the Manor's living room when the pendant fell out of her hand, drained of its transport magic. Instead, she stood in what looked like one of those muggle storage buildings. It was a quarter as large as the Hogwarts Great Hall and spotless. The materials were those of modern London: cement, glass, steel. The lights were electrical. It was empty, except for her sister, in thick gray muggle overalls.

And a two-person brown leather couch floating a few inches off the floor and held down by two ropes. Narcissa raised her eyebrows, now intrigued.

"Cissy! Thank you for hurrying. Teddy's over at Harry's. They're not expecting me until dinner, but there will doubtless be a crisis that requires my intervention by lunch time."

Andromeda looked like she had been awake for the last twenty hours, and possibly drinking pepper-up potions in excess.

"Where are we? Why are you wearing-"

"Giant pajamas? Comfort, and they have elastic bands on ankles, wrists and stomach. I have a set for you. We're in Edward's hangar. Near Cardiff."

As she spoke, Andromeda gestured to the hangar's walls. Posters and pictures Narcissa hadn't noticed at first stole her ability to form words.

Moons, constellations, planets. Space. Machines in space. Muggles in huge white body-suits and something like black glass hiding their faces.

Narcissa took a slow breath. "Meda, what am I looking at?"

"I need to say goodbye to my husband. We'd promised each other. I've let the others have their proper official burial, but this is what he wanted. And this is something I want for Bella too." Andromeda chuckled. The sound held a note of hysteria. "Perhaps she truly would have come back to haunt us, had they not exorcised the battlefield... But she liked things grand, she wanted to push the limits of magic, of... I think she might have actually liked this. And well, if not, as the eldest, I'm exercising my right to make this call." All hints of amusement, of wistfulness, were suddenly replaced by cold, quiet fury. "I couldn't let them keep her, not like this."

_'Meda, you need to sleep.'_ The reasonable part of Narcissa wanted to say. But this was a situation beyond reason.

Because if that dragonhide pouch Meda was fidgeting with was what Narcissa thought it was, then her sister was now a criminal. Bellatrix's body, along with the Carrows' and some of the more reviled Death Eaters had been frozen under lock at the Ministry since the battle of Hogwarts, until 'an appropriate course of action' could be decided upon. Clearly, Andromeda had lied (perhaps to herself as much as to Narcissa) when she had said she had stopped mourning Bella years ago.

Narcissa smiled softly at her. "So what is it you plan to do with our sister's stolen ashes?"

Andromeda smiled back. The content smile of someone confident they were in the right. "I dare them to arrest me," she whispered. "Come, Cissy, you must change and I need to apply some spells first. Then we'll be going to space."

_Space_.

Numb with shock, Narcissa let her sister weave her enchantments. Warmth, oxygen, notice-me-nots, electromagnetic shielding ('you need this against the sun' did little to enlighten Narcissa on what _electromagnetic_ could possibly entail).

"Ted was so thrilled when the papers announced that the ISS's assembly was finally under way. That's Zarya over there."

To Narcissa's eyes, this _Zarya_ object proudly displayed on a man-sized poster was just another machine. White and sleek and massive, certainly, but nothing from _her_ world.

"Now." Andromeda took a deep breath. "Last time Ted and I made the voyage, Nymphadora had completed her auror training. We felt it was important to show her that the world is so much _bigger_ than what even Hogwarts teaches us." Her voice caught, her words strangled. "She loved it."

Narcissa gently grabbed her sister's wrist. "Meda, I know this is hard for you, but I need you to explain."

Her sister nodded apologetically, eyes bright. "A geostationary satellite is a machine in space whose position relative to the ground doesn't change. As it's a fixed point, we can use it as a portkey destination. We will be portkeying to one of the dysfunctional satellites, so we do not have to worry about magic interfering with the electronics." Her lips twisted into a pained smile. "It's not the moon, but Ted and I were rather proud of ourselves."

_A geostationary -_ "How far?" Narcissa Malfoy did _not_ squeak, but her words did come out unattractively high-pitched.

"From the equator, close to 36000 kilometers, so add a few more thousand from here." Meda squeezed Narcissa's arm as the younger witch swayed at the number. Even the longest international portkeys didn't exceed ten thousand. "That's why I need you, Cissy. First, I need to cloak you in one last spell. Put these on, please."

Clad in the same unflattering gray ensemble than her sister, Narcissa was suddenly flying. No, _floating_, just above the ground_. _She moved her arms and legs, and frowned when it got her nowhere.

"Anti-gravity. Exiting the atmosphere requires enough speed without having to fight gravity." Behind every one of Meda's words, every spell, Narcissa could detect months, if not years, of work. Despite Meda's exhaustion, her raw grief, there was also excitement at being able to share this, with _Narcissa_.

A grateful smile bloomed on Narcissa's face as she finally measured how special this was.

She was warmed to see Meda grin back. "Now we must strap onto the couch. I hope you noticed how soft the portkey who took you here was?"

"I did. With regular portkeys I don't think I'd survive forty thousand kilometers."

Meda chuckled. She floated around Narcissa, somehow at ease with the bewildering sensation of anti-gravity. "Remind me to tell you about the time we tried porkeying to the Everest in under five seconds. You almost lost a sister that day. Now, the spell. We'll be going at such high speeds that we must power the shield spell into the portkey. It requires too much power for me alone."

The floating leather couch turned out to be the portkey. Meda harnessed herself and Cissy to it with straps. Protective runes were etched into the sides.

"Repeat after me," Meda said as she began her incantations.

The spell itself was not complex. It wasn't even Dark. A simple temporary ward, enough for a few hours' protection. _Space_. As the runes glowed with their magic, Narcissa was filled with increasing awe. Another kind of awe warmed her veins : this was not blood magic, or something Narcissa alone could do for her sister, and yet Meda had asked _her_. Perhaps, truly, they would grow to be close once more.

"We now have fifteen seconds before the portkey activates." Seated next to her, their legs almost brushing, Andromeda smiled slightly. "There's barely enough space for two. Nymphadora had to morph into a toddler so I could strap her to myself." The satchel containing Bellatrix's ashes now hung around her neck, and another small bag, which had to be either Edward Tonks' ashes, or a placeholder memento hung next to it. She sat up straight and grabbed onto Narcissa's hand. "Alright, swallow, take a deep breath, and lie back relaxed. You can close your eyes if you wish to."

Narcissa did, never letting go of Meda's hand. An invisible weight slammed into her as a force propelled her upwards. In her floating state and attached to the couch, Narcissa felt more secure than she ever had during her international portkey travels (England-India was twenty unending seconds of feeling like a fish in a hurricane), yet she couldn't breathe, and the sensation wasn't stopping. Seconds became a minute. Her heart pounded as her lungs protested.

"Breathe slowly."

Startled by Meda's low injunction, Narcissa opened her eyes.

Usual portkeys magically passed all kinds of barriers at ground level and so there was nothing to see, only a dizzying storm of shades and magically-muted howling wind. Narcissa was surrounded by the blue sky. And the sun. Not the crack-of-dawn pale orb she'd just left behind, but the sun in all its majesty.

Slowly, she breathed. Forcing air into her lungs despite the pressure. Blue sky gave way to darkness, despite the sun burning brighter, bigger. The wind's howl was gone. It was so silent Narcissa could hear her own pulse. _Space_.

_And Morgana, the moon!_ Whole, _huge!_, huger than Narcissa had ever thought it could be.

"There," Meda said. "The satellite."

Narcissa lacked the words to satisfactorily describe the machine. It was larger than them, but smaller than the Knight Bus. Some of it was covered in what looked like crumpled silver sheets that glowed gold under the sun (aluminum, Andromeda corrected). The rest was a cylinder covered in dark tiles, that Andromeda would reveal to be solar panels. Structures like baskets (antennas) and a wand-like long rod (another antenna) pointed towards the Earth.

_Earth_. _Morgana, it was all there!_ Europe, Africa, almost half of Asia. Home was a speck of nothing hidden beneath a swirl of clouds. The line between light and darkness cut Ireland, Spain and West Africa, leaving South America shrouded in night. Except... no, there _was_ light, some places seemed illuminated from within (electricity in cities, Andromeda revealed, and Narcissa began to truly measure the depth of her ignorance).

Two more thick leather strands had shot out of the warded couch and now kept them attached to the satellite. _36 000 kilometers of nothing under her feet._ Narcissa giggled, overwhelmed.

"Congratulations, Cissy, you're the first non-disowned British pureblood witch to have set foot in space."

"I think she would have liked this," Narcissa breathed, her eyes drinking in the spectacle before her. "Bellatrix doubtless would now be thinking of ways to weaponize the satellites, but she would have liked it."

Her awed smile died when she realized Meda, still clutching her hand, was weeping, her free hand around the two small bags around her neck. It wasn't dignified, silent weeping. Soon, her knees tucked against her chest, Andromeda shook with violent sobs.

"We were supposed to go to the moon," she choked. "We would've, given time."

Narcissa found herself sitting awkwardly, and unable to hold back her own tears. She had never met Edward Tonks, but here among the stars, she felt a sudden sense of acute loss. How could she dismiss him as inferior, how could she call Meda's choice a mistake, when witnessing what he and her sister had achieved, together? Her heart twisted at Andromeda's grief. Yes, Lucius was damaged, but he was _alive_, Draco was _alive_. Narcissa wept for Edward, for Bella, for the niece she had never been an aunt to, as she stared down upon this Earth she had seen so little of. Something about the sheer immensity of it filled her with a sudden lust for life.

_Morgana, she and Meda weren't even fifty! They had over half their lives to live still. Enough regrets. _Narcissa's eyes roamed over the continents, vowing she would not be confined in her speck of Britain anymore. _Who cared about the Manor?_ She and Lucius had enough money the Ministry knew nothing about to live twenty lives in luxury. It was time to stop cowering and to begin anew.

It was long wordless minutes until Andromeda spelled the two bags outside the protective shell around the couch. They shot out, propelled by magic, and fell.

With a farseeing lens charm, the witches watched the remains of their loved ones burst into flames as they entered the atmosphere. Within seconds, they were consumed into nothingness.

Andromeda wiped her tears, offering Narcissa a shaky smile. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_." Narcissa giggled again. Nerves. Her cheeks were still wet. She flailed with her feet. A leather couch. In space. She knew the moment was supposed to be solemn, but she felt giddy like a little girl. "Tell me you two just used this couch to enjoy the view."

"Morgana, Cissy, your marriage sounds so boring."

Thirty-six thousand kilometers over the Earth's surface, Narcissa laughed and pretended to _scourgify_ the portkey-couch she was sitting on.

* * *

**Aaand, I'm terrible at sticking to a plan and somehow magical space-burials happened. So there'll actually be one last (this time truly the last one^^) chapter narrated by Narcissa before we move on to Bellatrix. Be ready for back-to-Earth Harry and Draco interaction. **

**I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks to A Strawberry for leaving a review last chapter (since I can't thank you by PM)****.**


	7. N: No More Excuses

**Thanks Nico and Lou for your great reviews. I don't write for reviews, but I won't lie, I sure post on this site for them^^. Thanks to the rest of you for reading.**

* * *

**1998 - After Voldemort's death, and the visit to Andromeda**

Tea with Draco these days was a stilted affair, where they talked about nothing and pretended everything was as it should be.

Narcissa was tired of not talking. She doubted her son would get any better in silence. It had been two days since she had been to space with Andromeda, two days of sorting out what she truly wanted and believed in. Of course, only so much could be achieved in two days, but this _in-between_ state where they lived in the Manor without knowing how long they would be able to stay, where they pretended to ignore the awful things that had happened this year within these very walls... This was not the life Narcissa wanted. They were adrift and it was time to start steering the boat once more.

"Draco, are you not curious as to why I have been faring better than your father ?"

Draco stiffened. He gave a minute nod, not meeting her eyes.

"Lucius grew up loved. He had a name to live up to, but he did not have to hide who he was. He has always felt safe in his own house. On top of the torture, he was not equipped to handle the stress the Dark Lord's constant presence put him under. I, on the other hand, have had ample practice."

Draco was quiet for time. "Pansy, Theodore, Marcus Flint..." He took a sharp breath. "_Goyle_... Their childhoods were much worse than mine. Even Blaise... his mother didn't abuse him, but she never cared much for him. You never speak of your childhood."

"It wasn't all bad. Some of it was wonderful. I could have told you I had my sisters. But that would have meant talking of Andromeda and Bellatrix. I could have told you of my Black cousins... You've read those articles on Sirius and Regulus, have you not ? I... We could not give you siblings and you have no cousins your own age, none living close enough to be what they were to us. I convinced myself there was no point of making you envy something you couldn't have."

Draco nodded slowly, his eyes unfocused. "What of your parents?"

"They had a precise idea of who us children should become. We were not allowed a mind of our own. There was little admirable about them. We grew to despise them."

Narcissa's teacup clattered too loudly as she set it down. Pain shot up her arm. She breathed in slowly, willing the tremors to just _stop_.

Draco's eyes were riveted on her treacherous fingers. Narcissa swallowed down the urge to scream.

"Just grab my hand if you don't want to see them shake." She softened her biting tone with a pained smile. This humiliating ordeal was not her boy's fault.

Draco awkwardly reached forward, his grip careful but firm. A jumble of emotions creased his forehead. "You believed I was too... young, to understand?"

"Surely you now realize that Lucius and I have our own own pasts and chains, and that not everything is about you. I liked to pretend I was a Malfoy. It's as simple as that." She had liked to pretend everything was perfect for her little boy. She had loved how he looked at her, as if she was all-knowing and in control.

Anger clouded Draco's expression. It spoke of his newfound maturity that he reined it in. "So, your sister who ran off with a mud- a muggleborn. What is she like ?"

"Meda was, _is_, intelligent. She saw the hypocrisy. She lacked the cleverness, or maybe simply the inclination, to embrace it and make it a strength." Like Narcissa had done. "She fell for Edward Tonks because she could be herself with him. He was her excuse to break away. She did not regret what she lost. They were happy together. I am grateful life gave her this kindness."

"But she left you behind."

"We were all selfish... But perhaps that is why we survived." _We_. Not all of them. Not nearly.

* * *

Ollivanders' in Knockturn wasn't nearly as famed as Ollivanders in Diagon Alley. In common, the two shops shared a love for poorly-lit cramped spaces, precariously stacked merchandise, an eerie owner whose birth possibly predated Albus Dumbledore's, and the fact that almost every customer would leave with something they would use for the rest of their lives.

The main difference was that while Garrick Ollivanders sold wands, Egeria Ollivanders sold books. Her books held the kind of knowledge that shifted depending on their surroundings. The biggest stacks of books were about houses and those tomes sought a house of their own. Buildings, or more generally places, inhabited by magicals for generations, developed a sort of magical signature of their own. The places of greatest magic, like Hogwarts, grew almost sentient over the centuries. There were ways to prepare, hasten or guide such growth, and every magical family had an interest in cherishing their houses. A loyal house was the most fertile ground for protective wards.

Egeria's tomes were incomplete until they were bound to a house because houses, like children, were unique. The book had to be exposed to the house's magic, to be able to translate it into words for wizards to read. Like all books that changed, they were dark magic.

Narcissa had only ever lived in old houses, but now she was interested in a successful beginning. She was also hunting for a good present for Meda.

It was seven in the morning, too early for most customers. She froze when she realized she and Draco weren't alone.

She noticed him before he could see her. Wordlessly, she made herself functionally invisible. Draco frowned at her. His eyes then widened.

"Potter." Draco's mouth stayed open, but nothing more came out. He shut it awkwardly after a few tense seconds.

"_Muffiato_. Malfoy."

The pause was heavy. Almost threatening but for the fact Potter put his wand back in his pocket. The young man wore open black over-robes, over jeans and a plain black muggle shirt (and not even one of those with buttons). An attire that could be kindly called _comfortable_, and critically _overlarge_. It was all too muggle, and could have been a political statement had it not been so obviously an afterthought. And that messy black hair did little for his bearing. It made him look confused about how he wanted to come across, about where he belonged. It made him look terribly young.

"I heard you went to see Teddy." Potter's tone belied what he really meant: _"how dare you go see Teddy!"_

Draco stared. Narcissa could tell that he realized Potter knew that Draco and Teddy were cousins. That it wasn't the point.

"Millicent is the one who sent you Dobby," Draco said instead.

_"What_?"

"In fifth year. Dobby told you that Umbridge was coming to the Room of Requirements. Then you all rushed out into the seventh floor corridor like headless chicken instead of making the room open a door just about anywhere else... But we _did_ send Dobby. We'd known about your group since that painfully obvious meeting in the Hog's Head. And, guess what, some people are actually _friends_ with Slytherins and told us... Everyone _except _Umbridge knew about that defense club."

Potter, cross-armed, glared skeptically. "Then why didn't you tell her?"

"What for? To get you in trouble? You already lived in detention. To stop people from learning stunners? It boggles the mind that people like Chang hadn't mastered stunners by sixth year. I mean, she didn't strike me as dumb, academically at least, but -"

"You lay off about Cho -"

"The only part _I_ think is stupid," Draco interrupted, "is that you lot needed the Dark Lord as a reason to learn magic. I mean, of course nobody _needs _magic, that's why muggles shot a rocket to the moon. But we're wizards and witches, it's never been about _needing_."

"Then why was I the only one who spoke out against Umbridge? Why did you lot pin Inquisitorial Squad Badges to your robes and spent the year pushing us around?"

Draco matched Potter's red-faced accusations with an unimpressed glower. "You mean spent my O.W.L year patrolling corridors three hours a day and reading mail another half-hour instead of doing just about anything else? You truly believe I had fun past the first... oh, _four_ days?"

Potter blinked, clearly taken by surprise, but then his face darkened.

Narcissa wordlessly hexed Draco. A pinch on his shoulder. Like when he had been seven years old and mouthing off in public.

"I'm not saying I didn't behave badly towards you," Draco hastily said. _Good boy._ "Just... the I.S. wasn't a _privilege_. We called ourselves the _Indomitable Servants_."

Harry frowned. Most of his anger, at least the anger specifically directed at Draco, seemed to have left him. His arms stayed crossed. "Fine. Explain it to me then."

"There was a good chance the first to speak up would be expelled. With the I.S. Umbridge kept us privy to her plans and turned a blind eye on _us_ learning magic. We thought the others, or just you Gryffindors at least, would raise up a storm against the unfairness of it all. Instead, everybody just bowed their heads and waited for you three to set up your little Army. I don't get it, Potter. We _read your mail_, and you all were fine with it."

"It's not like we could do anything!"

"Muggle-raised you, muggleborn Granger, even the blo-, the Weasleys, not much. The others, who between them have most of the Ministry as parents, aunts and uncles or cousins?" Draco's smile was bitter. "This just proves most of everybody thought Umbridge had the right idea."

"How could they send letters when you lot read-"

"They could have sent letters from Hogsmeade," Draco snapped. "They could have asked the Hogwarts House Elves. Come on, Potter, stop finding them excuses! How come Umbridge wasn't run out of Hogwarts t_he second_ she and her allies almost murdered McGonagall! You outnumbered her! Except you _didn't_, just like we joined the squad, because we all figured she was were the power was and that there was little we could do against it."

"I thought _your father_ was the power at the Ministry."

"Me too." Draco's bitterness cut Narcissa to the core. Her son finally turned to her. She had years ago modified the see-me-but-notice-me-not spell invented during her school years so it didn't affect blood family.

Potter started as she made herself visible to him once more. His wand was out. Narcissa couldn't help her own shudder, and the instinct to raise her own wand. Potter lowered his arm, a flush darkening his face.

His green eyes were still wide in alarm. "How did I not notice you? I know nobody can apparate in the shop."

Narcissa explained the selective invisibility spell.

Potter's hand instinctively rose to cover his forehead. "I would have killed for a spell like that..." He straightened, defiance squaring his jaw. "So, about Mr. Malfoy?"

Narcissa took a second to collect her thoughts. Perhaps it would be easier if she thought of Potter as _Lord Black_. It was not weakness to answer such a question. It was _instruction_. There was too much ignorance in the world.

"For Lucius, it was convenient to have allies in high places. A few corrupt allies in a well-functioning Ministry is a powerful tool. Unfortunately, everyone had become someone's corrupt ally and nothing was particularly well-functioning." She took a slow breath. "The last century has seen the number of people working in the Ministry balloon, from a couple hundred to almost two thousand. Children, cousins, friends have been given jobs just by virtue of family connections. The competent often were pushed out when they protested. Often they simply left, preferring to work just about anywhere else. Is it surprising that most in the ministry, aware their power hung on to blood ties and social networking, would start seeding distrust on the magically powerful, on those who valued erudition, and later ban magic itself? Is it surprising that Umbridge demanded _loyalty? _That demands for accountability were deemed _disloyal ?_ Did Meda tell you that her daughter had to downplay her skills and integrity to become an auror?" Potter blinked in surprise. "Ask my sister about it." Narcissa's voice softened. "You'll find her not unhappy to talk of Nymphadora."

Sadness filled Potter's face, but his eyes stayed narrowed in concentration. "That... that makes sense. But isn't this what you wanted ? People valued because of their blood and not their abilities ?"

_Morgana_. "_No_."

Potter (Lord Black) stared, the question loud and clear in his green eyes.

"I believe purebloods are superior because we are not outsiders to our world. We learn, or _should_ learn, a love of magic. The same founding stories have been passed down since the days before Merlin. True wizards and witches do not simply repeat the spells of others. They craft, they make magic _theirs_. They root magic through houses and objects, they create instead of just _using_. They are not afraid of Dark Arts. It is about values, and a state of mind."

Potter opened his mouth. Narcissa raised an arm in a placating gesture. "I'm aware all of this can be learned and taught. We chose to exclude instead, and I understand why muggleborn are angry." Wistfulness entered her tone. "I would have readily adopted a muggleborn toddler and raised them Malfoy had it been possible. The family, had it been wholesome, would have been allowed to keep contact, but muggles are not equipped to raise a wizarding child."

Potter (_Lord Black_! Morgana, it was so difficult, with those guileless green eyes and those traits foreign to the family) stared wordlessly at Narcissa. Then he turned to stare at Draco. Her son stiffened defensively.

"What do you want me to say, Potter? I... Merlin's guts, Potter! I wanted to be what I thought Father wanted me to be, and instead Granger beat me at every test, you were the Quidditch star, and every House Cup was about the Golden trio. I didn't know how to make a place for myself, and I figured being your enemy made us equals, somehow. I thought you figured you were better than everyone, since you didn't deign talk to anyone except Weasley and Granger."

"Why everybody expected me to be outgoing and confident... I'm not... _I'm_ _not arrogant _! Why couldn't people come to _me?"_

"_I_ did-"

The _look_ Potter gave her son. "Yeah, you insulted Hagrid, then Ron and you -"

"It's proper for the person of highest social rank to make the first contact," Narcissa intervened. "It makes it harder for sycophants to ask favors. It forces the high born to pay attention to other people. Any children raised magical will have interpreted your silence as a conscious decision to not mingle with them."

Potter blinked. The pain in his eyes was blindingly obvious. He hadn't known. _Morgana, he truly hadn't known_.

Draco took a shaky breath, a blush creeping up his neck. "I... I begun first year, content with having Crabbe and Goyle, and then I saw you with Weasley and Granger. It was obvious that... I... I've become a better friend, or just, you know, _a friend_, but it wasn't until fourth year that I could honestly call... I realized in sixth year just how much people saw my status and not _me_, while you -"

"Merlin, _you_ were jealous of _me_?" An laugh followed those words. "Malfoy, you were a pain in the ass. Honestly though, I _wish_ you'd been the worst thing at Hogwarts. I hated you and Sna-" Potter trailed off, his words swallowed as his whole body slumped against the book shelf.

"Severus lied to me too," Draco snapped. He took a slow breath and seemed to come to a decision. "You... he hated you and saved your life and I bet it was... _confusing_ for you, Potter. But he was supposed to be my _godfather_. He wasn't because of the mark, but I never doubted that he cared. I didn't realize until it was too late, how much he had to _lie_. How I was allowed to believe things because... because the Dark Lord reads minds. Because I... I was too weak to keep him out."

It cost him to admit it, and even more to admit it to Harry Potter. Narcissa squeezed his shoulder, proud.

Potter's eyes darted from Draco to Narcissa, who stiffly willed herself to keep her composure. _Oh Severus, why didn't you flee? He couldn't have killed you through the mark, not in so little time._ Potter then looked to the ground, looking very much like an upset and overwhelmed teenager.

"Teddy is family. You're his godfather," Narcissa finally said. "They _chose _you. Andromeda values that more than blood. We're no threat to you."

Potter blushed, his arms crossed tight across his chest. "I don't think that-"

"Don't apologize, Potter. Do me a favor instead. I want to talk to Weasley. George."

"What for?" Potter said, eyes narrowed warily.

"Because he's the reason the kids we crucioed last year screamed like banshees despite our, at least _my_, spells being under-powered. It's this candy he and his brother invented. That and other things that made it easier to survive the Carrows. Severus would give us some. I... I think Weasley should know."

Potter was silent for a long time. He finally squared his jaw, and Narcissa caught a glimpse of the young man who had organized a band of teenagers into one of the war's decisive forces.

"We can go together," Potter decided. "Right now."

* * *

George Weasley was quiet young man, with a freckled face darkened by thick rings around his eyes. There was something awkward about how he stood, angled as if a second person should be in the empty space next to him. His speech was sometimes choppy, sentences begun, then left hanging, then hastily finished when he would notice the awkward silence.

Narcissa was quiet herself. Painful memories of another set of twins, of helplessness and fury, stirred uncomfortably. Memories of a still baby. Gleeful descriptions of torture. The announcement she was barren. Vengeance that tasted like ash.

The nephew of Fabian and Gideon Weasley took Draco's apology, and his revelations, with relative grace and a fair amount pride. Still, when the time came for questions, he didn't hold back.

"So what is you lot's actual problem with us? With the Weasley family?"

Draco, unsurprisingly, looked to her. It seemed this would be remembered as the Day of Unusual Forthrightness.

"Arthur Weasley spends his time tinkering with muggle artifacts. I think the two of us have invented a comparable amount of spells. He's magically rather brilliant. People dismiss him because he's absurdly obsessed with muggle contraptions, and he's too nice and meek. As for Molly Weasley... I'm not so surprised that she out-duelled Bella."

The three boys were staring at her wide-eyed now.

"I remember her during the late seventies. Few people in the order matched that woman in either magic and purpose. Don't think she wasn't on the front lines. That changed after her brothers were captured and killed. I... I was told Dumbledore had been against that particular mission, but the three of them persisted." Narcissa swallowed back poisonous guilt. Narcissa hadn't just known that Bellatrix had been after the twins. She had _wanted_ them to pay for those unending months of carrying her unborn, unmoving baby, desperate for Severus to find an antidote. Those who had directly poisoned her had been out of reach, but not the twins, who had helped them flee the country. "Molly barely made it out alive the day they were captured. Days later, your brother William almost was killed while she was out. I'm not all that surprised she put her family first after that, even if it made others dismiss her."

Shock, pride and guilt warred on George's face as he seemed to digest the words.

Draco's expression was unfathomable. "Mother, I apologize for thinking a... a better mother would have shared her past with me earlier. It seems everybody has secrets, even Molly Weasley."

"_So,_" George said, his eyes suddenly crinkling. "The root of the great Malfoy-Weasley feud, on the Malfoy side at least, is that Lucius Malfoy thinks my parents are a wasted opportunity?"

Narcissa smiled slightly. "Something like that." And pettier, more visceral, reasons. Molly and Arthur, walking around with seven children. A large happy family. So stretched thin, when Narcissa could have offered so much to children of her own. "Also they're insufferable and make no secret of despising us."

George laughed, genuine despite the edge to it. "Well, that's certainly mutual."

"Hey, you want to give me a hand with Grimmauld Place?"

Draco frowned at Potter.

"The ancestral Black house," Narcissa supplied.

"It's why I was at Ollivanders' when we ran into each other... I don't know how to make the place feel _right_. Some days, I just want to tear the walls down, set fire to the carpets, and make a whole new thing. I... I know the Manor's going to be taken from you, so..."

"Potter, living together, _us?_"

"No ! No, I mean... I..." Potter's shoulders drooped. He looked like he wanted to hug his knees to his chin and disappear into the ground.

Narcissa steadied him with a hand on his upper arm. The teenager stilled, but some of his panic seemed to ebb away.

"I have a lot of memories of that house. We played, with Cousin Sirius. I can show you how we managed to make the dreary place a home. We don't have to make big life decisions today."

Potter's own smile was surprisingly bright. "I'd love that actually. Thank you Mrs. Malfoy."

"And Draco -" Draco turned to her, taken aback by her stern tone. "Mr. Potter is Lord Black. And your cousin through my aunt Dorea, his grandmother. It wouldn't do to forget it."

The two boys faced each other, sizing each other up with apprehension. At first glance, they were like day and night, Draco, well-groomed in proper tailored robes, standing straight and stiff, and Potter slouching in his mismatched overlarge muggle-like attire. His messy hair and thick spectacles made Narcissa itch to fix him up with a few grooming spells. Of course, beyond the clothes, they were two skinny teenagers who'd lived through too much and were struggling not to drown.

Potter's lips twitched.

Draco sighed. "Lord Black, I'm warning you: Malfoys bow to no one." The words were choked, an obvious jab at the dragon in the room. But at least most of the overt hostility was gone.

_Lord Black_ chuckled dryly. He seemed to have shaken off part of the invisible weight dragging him down. "Keep it that way, Malfoy. There's been way too much bowing."

Narcissa squeezed Draco's arm. She was proud of him. "Before we leave you alone, is there anything we can do for Miss Granger?" she said.

Potter's face lost all lightness. "Hermione's strong," he snapped. "She's fine."

"Well, I'm _not_ fine with what happened in my home. There are ways to remove scars and physical ailments, to dull horrifying memories. I'm sure Miss Granger's courage and energy are best spent rebuilding the Isles rather than coping with those horrific scars." Narcissa took a slow breath. It was no use snapping at Potter. "Besides, I mean it when I say I value magic. We lack the spells to rebuild Hogwarts. Miss Granger is a remarkable learner. I, and Meda of course, have a lot we could teach you. William Weasley is someone I would be curious to work with, and perhaps it's time to ask Arthur Weasley if he wants to craft spells outside his... _garage_."

"Wait, you're _not_ just trying to make nice just because us lot have the power now?" Narcissa flinched at George's Weasley's biting tone. His eyes were tight, and yet there was something in his expression that made Narcissa believe the young man _wanted_ to trust them. "Merlin's buttocks," George continued with a thoughtful frown,"you actually mean it when you said you were sorry."

Draco fumbled for a suitable reply. Narcissa just smiled slightly. "Obviously, you're quite the spell-crafter yourself, Mister Weasley," she said, waving her hand at the enchanted paraphernalia all around them. "People desperately need laughter now, but I wouldn't want you to think we're overlooking you. There's a lot you could teach us too."

George actually blushed. _Morgana, these boys were all so young._

"So Potter, want to see us or not?" Draco said, his whole body thick with tension. Narcissa was reminded she needed to have another conversation with him about social graces. He couldn't afford to take out his frustrations on the very people who had helped them avoid Azkaban. And it seemed a shame, after so much soul-baring, to not take the opportunity to make their relationship amiable at least.

"Right. Yeah. _Yeah_, I... As in, Ron, Hermione and I, we go to the pub on Wednesdays? Why don't you come this time?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How muggle is it?"

Potter grinned unabashedly. "Very. Nobody has a clue who we are."

"That sounds wonderful," Narcissa said, her warmth unfeigned. "Send me Kreacher to confirm if your friends are amenable to our presence."

She didn't expect anyone to forget. She didn't care much for forgiveness. But there was no one left she was afraid of. She had no excuses left. Her parents were dead. The Dark Lord was dead. The title of Lady Malfoy had once brought her status and comfort, but Andromeda was right: it had made her complacent. Now was the time to craft the world she wanted to live in.

"You know, there _are_ muggleborn kids who need a home," Hermione Granger told Narcissa on their first 'pub night' before they'd even finished their first drink. "Death Eaters infiltrated obliviators and targeted muggleborn too young for Hogwarts. A few, protected by their accidental magic, managed to flee and survive. Their families did not. There are also all the Hogwarts-aged muggleborn who lost family..."

Narcissa blinked. She hid behind her glass of white wine (not _too_ awful, but surely there was a more high class muggle pub in London?) to give herself time to answer.

"Perhaps I can do something for them? In a way that won't... make it worse."

Granger nodded slowly, her searching eyes never leaving Narcissa's face. Trust would take time, but Narcissa was fine with that.

* * *

**1998 - early Autumn**

In the end, Narcissa convinced Lucius that they both needed to take an active role in finding the Manor's new owners, instead of awaiting Shacklebolt's decision like a man waits for his own funeral. Lucius, gripped by a brooding lethargy since the end of the war (and before that, perhaps, but terror had kept him sharp, then), was less help than he should have been.

Unlikely aid came in the person of Percival Weasley. _"They want revenge, Mrs. Malfoy : we'll have to make a big deal about forcing you to do this. Just make sure to look suitably upset. It'll work out much better than if they figure out you don't mind."_

Working for the Ministry had made the young man develop a healthy streak of cynicism.

Limited to two spelled suitcases each, and so the equivalent content of a two-bedroom house, Narcissa and Lucius had finished packing their essentials. Lucius paced in the halls, his eyes grasping onto furniture, upholstery and portraits. To all the things they would have to leave.

"I can see it already," Lucius fumed. "The Reception Room spelled into an ice-ring! The Hall of Ancestors, made into a menagerie!"

"It will remain whole and a place of magic. And we owe her, Lucius. She was treated abominably and she was nothing but graceful in her testimonies."

"It's my _home_," Lucius hissed through gritted teeth. Which was as much of an acknowledgment that Narcissa was right as she going to get. "And now you exile me to my sister's without even an end date in sight, while you find home and perhaps even adopt a gaggle of muggleborn children. I wonder if you'd not be relieved if I _didn't_ come back."

"Lucius, you are ill," Narcissa said flatly. The self-loathing comments about Narcissa leaving were growing uncomfortably common. This couldn't go on. "An illness of the mind is no less an illness. You do not enjoy what Azkaban and this war have done to you any more than I do. I want you to be able to sleep through the night. To look out the window and see the future, not past horrors. To be able to muster excitement in the morning for the day to come." She squeezed his hand, willing nothing but confidence in her voice and bearing. "I'll be _very_ happy when you come back. And I expect you to uphold your responsibility as husband and father in doing all you can to heal." She couldn't admit her fears. Lucius was too fragile. Being strong for two, hiding her uncertainty and moments of weakness from her own husband, for years to come, was a daunting prospect.

Lucius glowered, his pale cheeks flushed, but he did squeeze back.

A chime signaled someone had passed the front door.

"Vincy! Check-" Lucius snapped his mouth shut when he remembered Vincy did not serve them anymore. "Having to answer my own front door to unannounced visitors like some idiot..." he muttered through gritted teeth, lengthening his strides.

Narcissa had to run to keep up. "_Lucius_," she hissed in warning, before he could blast the door open.

Dirty blonde hair and wide gray eyes greeted them behind the inner gate.

"I thought you were to come tomorrow," Lucius said stiffly.

"Yes." Luna Lovegood's air of detached serenity was something to behold. "Reporters and gawkers would have come, so I decided on today. We can leave a nice sign on the gate for the others tomorrow, to tell them there is nothing to see."

Her smile was perfectly polite and guileless. '_A nice sign'._ Narcissa was impressed.

"Welcome," Narcissa said, mustering a smile of her own. "Please come in. I prefer it to be an intimate affair too. Draco is at Pansy's, he will be back for dinner."

Luna wasn't alone. Behind her, her father Xenophilius hovered nervously, looking distinctively out of place in his tweed-and-leather suit. Give that man a rucksack and he looked ready for an expedition in German forests to seek out sylphs.

Lucius began a pointed tour of the manor, highlighting the architecture, the furniture, the ornaments and, when Luna would narrow her eyes at specific doors, tapestries or encrusted ornaments, the attached wards and magics. As the minutes went by, the bite in his tone softened. Luna was openly curious, and even Xenophilius, despite his obvious discomfort, seemed slightly in awe of the place.

"This is very ugly," Luna said as she stopped by a copper oriental lamp. A foot in length, it stood on the bedside table of the windowless room that had been decorated to look like a sixteenth century ship captain's cabin (of the magical kind, of course). The lamp was cracked in places and disfigured as if the metal had somehow melted. "The nargles love it so much they're leaving the rest of the room alone."

"Yes. A creature had once been tethered by it." All the storytelling seemed to have reinvigorated Lucius. "My ancestor Delphinis bartered for it, charmed by the promise of a powerful slave. Of their party of five, she alone survived the trickery of the djinn and only because she undid its tethers and it favored freedom over revenge. The lamp is hungry for a new captive and still attempting to twist its magic back into a suitable cage. This bedroom is never used as such. It is a memento of the greatness and follies of the family."

Narcissa, who knew Lucius' tales by heart by now, was more interested by Luna herself.

"Have you ever seen a master, Miss Lovegood? You seem to have a sensitivity to magical auras. It's a valuable gift to cultivate."

"Her mother too," Xenophilius muttered, flashing Luna a smile thick with adoration, pride and grief.

Luna, for the first time, looked nervous. "Garrick has started teaching me. He needs time to get better, but he is a master, or as good as. He... I wanted him to come with Daddy and I today. Voldemort destroyed his house too, you know?" It was there, the steel buried beneath the dreamy exterior, not even a flinch when saying the Dark Lord's name. "He said he would come, but later."

Narcissa suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands. Her face. Her whole body. _What did you do when your home had become prison and worse? __What could possibly be said?_ "The Manor has quite enough room to accommodate you all. I hope Mr. Ollivanders will be able to make himself at home."

"I don't know," a breathy voice from the far wall interjected, "is he interesting? We must suffer boring when it's blood, but given a choice..."

Half-hidden behind a large cabinet covered with rolled up maps, Delphinis stared at them avidly. She had been captured in enchanted paint in her sixties, in a room not unlike this one, wearing white trousers gathered tightly at the ankle and a fitted orange-and-white vest, her head bound in a turkish fashion that had caught her fancy during her travels.

"Garrick Ollivanders has been crafting wands since he was old enough to polish wood, Captain. Boredom shouldn't be an issue." Narcissa promised. It went without saying that with crafting came selling, and knowing the core and wandwood of a wizard or witch, was, for a man steeped in wandlore, a goldmine of information. Some old families had used to swear their wandmakers to secrecy.

"And a master of auras I hear. Well, well, good job, I say. Lucius, young man, come to visit when you've enough adventures to share, will you? Modern Malfoys are like peacocks in a coop, barely poking their noses out beyond their own gardens."

"They speak modern English," Luna said, her head cocked to the side.

"Too much would be lost without the communication enchantments." Lucius' bitterness, his brittleness, was starting to show through again. "The older portraits would be irreversibly diminished were we to move them, their magic is too entwined with the Manor's." Only Abraxas' portrait and his sisters', Lucius' aunt, would come with them.

"I usually like portraits. I talked to a lot of them at Hogwarts. They were easier to talk to than people." Luna turned to Narcissa with those disarming pale eyes. "Harry told me Sirius' mother's portrait is nasty."

Narcissa's lips twitched. "Walburga's a horror. Malfoy portraits weren't painted to tell their descendants who to be and what to think. They're a boastful crowd eager to reminisce about their greatest exploits and spin outrageous tales. You might especially like Adiona and her line, notably Diana, Ulysses and Moccus, they had a passion for rare creatures and spent half their lives preparing faraway expeditions. You'll find them on the third floor of the East Wing."

Luna's eyes lit up.

"Don't believe half of what Adiona says," Lucius warned. "She'll try to convince you she found an island in the tropics with a species of miniature dragons capable of bonding with wizards, communicate telepathically with their bonded, and confer them a resistance to magic."

"Pseudo-dragons?" Xenophilius whispered excitedly. "Where?"

Narcissa was glad. For all their eccentricities, these were good-hearted people who loved magic, and whatever they did with the Manor, they would respect it. No doors slammed, no lights dimmed, so it seemed the house itself had decided to be cautiously welcoming of its new owners.

"So what will you be doing while we're away?" Draco asked that evening.

Luna and her father had left to gather the last of their own belongings. Draco looked both upset and wholly relieved to have missed the girl's visit. The last time the two had talked must have been muttered half-words as Draco sneaked her food while Luna was a prisoner of the Dark Lord (Bellatrix had known. She had used it against Narcissa, trying to convince her that her son was too soft, too weak and not deserving of Narcissa's love. Bella had not told the Dark Lord, thankfully, but Narcissa ached when she remembered this twisted mix of sisterly loyalty and blackmail, all too aware that Bella, stripped of her happy memories, had lost almost all frame of reference on how to bond).

The Malfoys were now guests in their own (former) house, having initiated the transfer of the wards. Tonight, both they and the Lovegoods would sleep here, and tomorrow, she would go to Andromeda's, and Lucius and Draco to Mauritania, with no set return date.

Narcissa wasn't worried about having enough to keep busy. "Oh, I'll be making dementors extinct."

Draco blinked. "_Mum_?"

"Lord Black sounded enthusiastic, even if it's Bellatrix's spell. We just must test alternatives to the killing curse to strike the killing blow." _Reducto_, _sectumsempra_, and an assortment of not-quite-unforgivable curses were high up on the list. "It's time to stop using hungry dementors as an excuse for a deplorable justice system."

The war had been torture and silence and lies. Narcissa fiercely looked forward to some no-holds-barred righteous destruction. Besides, she owed Bella, and cousin Sirius, that much.

* * *

**This is it for Narcissa (for now at least)! I hope it didn't disappoint. And now, time for the last Black sister to take the spotlight.**


	8. B: The Other Black Mansion

**Thank you GRandElusYon****, Detective Silver and Verity for your reviews last chapter (and ChocolateTeapot, when you get to this). The feedback keeps this story going. **

* * *

The house of Cygnus and Druella Black looked like a typical 15th century English manor, but it had been erected in the nineteenth century. For those who did not know its macabre history, that particular fact raised some important questions. After all, it went without saying that no self-respecting pureblood family, let alone members of the most Noble and Ancient House of Black, would lower themselves to living in a _recent_ house. Recent meant magically immature, which was a sensitive way of saying _muggle_.

By the mid nineteenth century, the number of derelict magical estates had grown alarming. Too many families had squandered resources acquiring grand mansions they lacked the funds, the magic and the people to maintain. Every magical ruin in the Isles, every manor once held by witches and wizards who'd immigrated to the Americas, had been acquired at ridiculous prices as the British great families of competed for status.

The deaths of Cressida and Magnus Gaunt in 1849, and of the tragically young Oberon Weasley in 1850, hastened the passing of a law. Unsafe dwellings could not be inhabited until they were adequately restored. If the owners lacked the finances to do so, the estates would be sold, entirely or in parts.

The Black family, eighteen estates strong, found themselves left with seven. Forced to live together, they commonly agreed without ever needing to discuss it that there wasn't enough space for all of them. Unfortunately, such an agreement lowered the number of inhabitable estates from seven to five, as some Blacks took offense when some of their relatives 'mysteriously' died in most gruesome fashions.

It wasn't the most glorious time for the family. Some would say the wiser among the Blacks left the Isles forever in the 1850s.

Cygnus Black, born in 1814, was unquestionably more driven, politically astute, and magically talented than Cygnus, father of Bellatrix. After foiling an assassination attempt by gargoyle orchestrated by his treacherous sister Isla, he decided to break tradition and build his own house.

The mansion was erected from the transported and reassembled elements of the stately Colne Estate in Colchester, who, to the non-magical world, was destroyed along with its owners and servants in a particularly voracious fire. He found a suitable seven-acre spot a few miles away from London, near the river Lea and warded it to look like another factory-in-construction, one that filled the muggles' minds with whispers of _'nothing to see here'_.

Cygnus didn't choose the location by chance. It was a filthy overcrowded place thick with fumes of Victorian industrialization. Factory after factory was being erected and workers slept in slums. Men desperate for work arrived every week, more than enough to replace those who'd died by accident or illness. It was the rise of British industry in all its magnificent, miserable glory.

It was the perfect place for a man like Cygnus, who had no patience for a natural magical awakening. Those took generations of wizards living, feeling and casting spells within the estate's grounds. Cygnus turned to dark rituals to hasten the process. Magic was directly poured in the walls and foundations. Only, without life-energy as a catalyst, such magic would be wasted. The grounds extended over ten acres but the wards extended over ten thousand, spreading out like tentacles through western Essex, hungrily seeking out the life-force that bled from the muggles : the hopes, the desperation, the death. A thousand dead muggles would power a manor in the same way a family of wizards would by virtue of residing there for a whole generation, and many thousand muggles died by the river Lea during those years.

Sybil, born Longbottom, cordially despised her husband Cygnus, whose main redeeming quality was his looks. She nevertheless much preferred to live alone with him and their children than to share a house with a whole swathe of plotting, loathsome in-laws (they'd killed her little brother, the beasts, by _accident. _They couldn't even manage to curse the _right_ cigar. Sybil bode her time: Azkaban would've been too kind a punishment.) She thus supported Cygnus wholly. Once the mansion pulsed with magic, she pointed out that the pulse was still weak, unworthy of a Noble House. They deserved better. It would require magical blood. Blood of _their_ blood. Black blood.

To celebrate the only worthy Black line in the Isles, husband and wife wove together a tapestry. For now it only held three names : their three children's. After all, the others soon would not matter. Sybil knew the Isles would be a better place for it.

Aware that such sacrifices created wild dark magic, of the kind that could backfire lethally, husband and wife decided after some deliberation that Sybil would become pregnant. The child would most certainly die, but unnamed and unformed, it was better than risking themselves or their living children. Besides, their relatives would be less suspicious in the presence of a heavily pregnant witch, and the upcoming baby made a good excuse for a gathering.

It's not that the other Blacks were magically untalented, or unintelligent, or even _all_ morally corrupt. It's that the sheer magnitude of Cygnus' and Sybil's plot was beyond what even the most paranoid among them could suspect. After the fact, Cygnus deflected the blame on some of the dead and that was the end of it. Some aurors did suspect Cygnus, but none of them wanted to be the one to interrogate a man capable of murdering close to two-score of his own blood relatives. Besides, the deceased Blacks were not particularly beloved, and had been murdering each other for the last three years anyway (not that anybody could prove it).

The power released during the murderous ritual, wild magic born of the unwilling sacrifice of so many witches of wizards, created a burst of magic so violent it echoed through the blood of every man and woman born Black. Those married into other lines, protected by their spouse's magic, still cried in pain, as if a part of them had been forever stolen. The absent, those who had not come despite Cygnus' insistent invites and those who had left the country years before, felt their magic burn and tear. It was weeks, sometimes months, until their wands would respond reliably to their commands, and, in elderly Aries Black's case, his magic was stripped forever. He died a squib.

At the heart of the burst, eight-year-old Sirius, Cygnus and Sybil's eldest, strong in health and magical talent, did not survive despite the heavy protections his parents had woven. His magic was drained to feed the voracious manor awakened in blood. The baby, unexpectedly, was born healthy. Perhaps, in its fickleness, the wild magic had not even seen it. After all, Dark Arts were a magic of emotion and neither Sybil nor Cygnus had developed much of an attachment for the unborn sacrifice. It took weeks for Sybil to be able to so much as look at the child, a quiet wide-eyed girl, as she mourned her son.

Cygnus named the child Isla, after his late sister. A part of him _did_ regret that all this had been necessary. When Isla-the-younger ran off with muggle Bob Hitchens, he cursed himself, convinced he had doomed his youngest by giving her a cursed name. That didn't stop him from blasting her off the family tapestry. Sybil, to aggravate him, felt the need to keep bringing him photographs and news. She stopped, disgusted, when Isla's only child was revealed to be a squib. The girl's magic had never been particularly strong, but _a squib_.

"It's the muggle blood, not the ritual, it's not our fault," Cygnus told his wife.

He wanted to believe it. After all, everything he'd done, he'd done for the family. No more murderous plots, no more disunity. None of the scattered survivors challenged Cygnus when he claimed the title of Lord Black. The Blacks were few now, yes, but the Black fortune, too long divided between too many spendthrift heirs, was now firmly in his vaults. For the first time in two generations, they had enough money to exist politically. His son Phineas had become Hogwarts Headmaster, and if that was not a success to be proud of, Cygnus didn't know what was. His grandson, Sirius, eldest child of Phineas, lived in Grimmauld Place, the ancestral Black home. And Cygnus himself, of course. He had not only a seat, but a voice, at the Wizengamot. _Lord Black_ was a title spoken with respect.

All was as it should be.

* * *

**1962-63 - Bellatrix 8 years old**

In the last century, factories had been built and later disassembled, slums had given way to crowded streets lined with identical narrow homes glued together wall-to-wall. West Ham borough had gone from being one of the very worst neighborhoods in greater London, to a place where one would expect to not get stabbed during the day. That said, it was still dirty and poverty stricken.

Growing up, it was the only glimpse into the muggle world the Black sisters had.

The wards made them silent, those muggles living on the other side of the streets just outside the grounds. When the muggles' gazes fell on the estate, they still saw a factory. Their minds still whispered _'unremarkable, stay away, not by business'_ and directed them towards other thoughts.

As little girls, Andromeda, Bellatrix and, toddling behind them, Narcissa, would sometimes go to the edge of the wards. They would climb the trees and fly up their toy brooms to spy on the muggles in their tiny gardens. On one side of the estate, you could see a small abandoned field across the street. Children, in their silly muggle clothes, would fool around during the day. When an old car was abandoned especially, they would come in numbers, to play or to take the parts.

There were _a lot_ of children in those small, narrow houses. There were parents and often grandparents and sometimes even other people. Bellatrix didn't understand why they didn't go into bigger houses. To believe that some even slept _in the street_. Other muggles passed by those asleep-in-the-street muggles and didn't even look.

"They're muggles. Filthy animals," Mother said, because what more was there to say? Mother found gawking at muggles unseemly, so soon the girls found other games during the day. Narcissa would barely remember ever looking at all.

Bellatrix had a harder time sleeping through the night than her sisters. She would collapse at 8 PM and then wake up at 1 AM, full of energy, unable to sleep again before 2 or 3. Meda teased her because she still took afternoon naps at eight years old, but Bellatrix couldn't help it. At night, she would go out on her broomstick because she couldn't sleep and there was nothing else to do. She'd get shouted at and locked into her room if she made noise or messed up the house.

At night it wasn't children in that litter-filled field, lit by two flickering muggle-lampposts. It was all adults, of a scruffier, more dangerous breed than the ones in houses. When she was seven, Bellatrix saw a man get stabbed. She watched a old drunk wrapped in crusty covers beaten by youths until he stopped moving altogether. When she was eight, she saw a lady, or maybe a girl, be dragged by two men who ended on top of her. She saw a too-skinny woman, dressed half-crazy even for a muggle, walking around alone like she'd been confounded, her mouth opening and closing like she was shouting.

Some of the windows in the houses lit up during the night. Sometimes, when she was _really_ curious, Bellatrix found that she could _see_, as if she was standing with her nose against the dusty glass. Sometimes, she saw a mother singing to her baby, or children up late playing and laughing with their parents. Mostly, she saw parents with twisted faces, crossed arms and balled fists. They would cry, sometimes because one made the other cry, sometimes they cried together. At first, the _seeing_ had happened and she'd struggled to make it happen again, now she could almost control it. She'd had a lot of practice, and besides, _seeing_ made it all less boring.

Bellatrix watched. She did not speak of what she saw at night. She, Cissy and Meda had secrets, but this was something more. She lacked the words to explain, even if she had wanted to. Her parents gave her no words. Except _animals_. She had nightmares, sometimes. Of looking for her house but not finding it and having to sleep on the ground. Of filthy muggle men pinning _her_ down. When she'd wake up, she'd scoff.

She had _magic_. She'd blast them to pieces if they tried.

One night she arrived in her usual place and saw a light. A glowing, orange-red light hovering like thick clouds over the muggle houses, and billowing smoke. _A fire!_

Two houses were breaking down, swallowed in flames. The flames reached out, running from roof too roof, threatening the whole street. In the ward-made silence, the crowd gathering outside was a pantomime of grimaces, shaking shoulders and jerking movements. Some held others in their arms, others struggled against those holding them, screaming soundlessly at the flames. Many muggles ran about with buckets. So little water for so much fire.

Bellatrix's eyes searched for those people she knew without knowing. She'd counted them a hundred times, spying them behind their windows. The five children and two parents and one grandparent in the house that was almost destroyed now. In the house next to it, blazing second-strongest, lived six boys and a mother and three grand-parents. Barely over half of all those people were outside.

Bellatrix blinked tears out of her stinging eyes. She pushed her sticky dark curls out of her face. It was _hot_. She gasped for air, tasting ash. The wards blocked the noise from the city, but not the heat. Not the fire.

Heart racing, she jumped back on her Meteorite 30, the fastest toy-broom on the market. Still it took _minutes_ to get back inside.

"Father! Mother! The muggle houses, they're burning! I can even feel the heat!"

Father grunted, but he did get up. Still half-asleep, he summoned his own broom, a brand new Cleansweep he'd bought to show off. It zoomed around the mansion so fast Bellatrix was dying to use it. Cleansweep were used by actual _Quidditch professionals._

"Can I climb on with you? We'll be faster."

She almost couldn't believe it when he gave an impatient nod. Her arms around him and her cheek against his warm back, Bellatrix closed her eyes as he flew her to the edge of the wards. She half-expected Father to shake her off and tell her to get on her own broom the minute he was more awake. She tried not to hold on _too_ tight.

She fell on her knees when they landed on the grass and scrambled upright breathlessly. "Look, there's _five_ houses burning now!"

"Look at them." Father's voice was flat. His narrowed eyes pitiless."So pathetic. If they can't fight fire, why build those ugly houses that leave no space for the fire to die?"

One of the muggle machines finally came, a large red carriage with water spouting out of a long tube. It was too slow. Too late to save the houses already burning.

Father cast a few spells, weaving them into the wards. "There, no risk of the fire reaching us. I'm going back to bed."

"We could stop the fire. Easily."

"Why would we do that? There's too many of them anyway. Good riddance."

_'Good riddance.' _The words echoed in her mind. The fire's angry flames filled the sky, so bright it almost didn't look like night.

Bellatrix didn't know _what_ she felt.

Left alone by her father in the darkness, Bellatrix watched the houses burn until the flames had all died. She counted again. The second family now had only one grandparent, and the first, the one who didn't even have parts of a house left, had lost two of the children. The father was so burned half his face looked melted off. Bellatrix had seen him outside with all of his face, earlier, but then he'd gone back in to get his family out of the flames.

* * *

"Do you think Father would melt his face off, for us?" Bellatrix asked Meda one morning. She kept dreaming of fire. She remembered her arms around Father's body as they flew together.

Meda frowned at her as she finished tying her own dark curls in a thick ponytail. "Bella," she then slowly, "don't get yourself in a situation where you need Father to melt his face off for any of us."

_Yes_. That sounded wise. Yet the answer was like a cold stone in Bellatrix's stomach and she didn't know why.

"The wireless said it would snow late this winter. Can we make snow early?"

That was Narcissa, walking into Andromeda's bedroom with all her outside clothes already on properly. Narcissa was only six but very good at being a good daughter. Her blonde hair fell down to her shoulders, just wavy enough to look styled, and sometimes among grownups Cissy would just stand there, all cute and silent, aware she was been looked at and approved of. She was lucky she was fun and loyal, or Bellatrix would have shoved her just because.

"Bean!" Bellatrix called.

Their house-elf, a female who had already been around to mind Mother when Druella had been a child, and whom the girls had learned not to push around _too_ much or she'd just pop away and not answer for a while, appeared in front of them.

"How about snow?" Bellatrix said eagerly.

"Young mistresses wants Bean to conjure snow? Bean can make snow outside. Bean will find a suitable spot to play without bothering the master."

Bean popped away without another word.

The sisters grinned at each other and rushed after the house elf.

Bellatrix had to hop as she hastily slid on her boots. She didn't bother with outside robes, keeping her sleeveless play ones. Warming charms kept her comfortable and play robes were meant to be torn and reparoed over and over. Besides, she liked the slosh of snow up her legs and the feel of grass against her bare arms. Unlike Cissy and Meda, she didn't mind the scrapes or when dirt got into her mouth. They helped her feel _all there_. Who wanted to be padded in winter robes and be cut off from everything?

Bean would fix all that before they went back in anyway. She'd be all tidy and prettied up for her late morning lessons.

They made a snowman. Meda wanted to decide what it'd look like, Bella preferred to just _do it. _Meda huffed and called her bossy and soon pointed out the arms weren't aligned. So Bella took out the arm that was too low and slammed it into Meda.

Andromeda coughed and spluttered as snow exploded in her face. Her eyes had narrowed in a way that said _fine, you asked for it _before she'd finished catching her breath. She crouched and threw a pile of dirt and snow straight at Bella's eyes.

Bella grinned and jumped on her, forcing her big (but not _that_ much bigger) sister on her back like a flailing turtle. _Why bother throwing when you just had to immobilize and bury in snow? _

Andromeda groaned, snow all over her face and hair, shoving and grabbing as she struggled to regain the upper hand.

Bella gasped as something _cold_ slid between her dress and the skin. The warming charm peeled off like a sticky layer off her skin, leaving Bella shivering and full of snow. She realized her snowman's head was now multiple small piles of snow all around her, and in her clothes. Andromeda took advantage of the moment to shove her off and get back on her feet.

Cissy stood smugly right behind Bellatrix, her little gloved hands full of snow.

"I didn't like the head," Cissy said calmly, as if she was in her right to give Bella _orders_. To shove_ so much snow_ down Bella's back to break the warming charm. "Make it pretty this time. I want a lady snowman."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes threateningly. Cissy giggled as she backed away. She stumbled backwards and fell on the ground, still laughing. "You've still got snow on your chest, Bella," she teased, pointing.

_Brat_. Bellatrix went to grab more snow. Her chilled fingers stung, in a good way. She dug deep into her snowman's chest. _She'd make the snowball of the ages_. Then she stopped, the pile of snow before her distracting her from her revenge. _Her snowman._ Look at how they'd mutilated it. Headless, armless, and now with a huge hole in its chest.

Wait, that hole actually looked like a _twisted mouth_. Bella cocked her head, seeing the snowman from another angle. A one-armed monster with a massive maw on its chest. It was soft and lumpy, but imagine it hard, imagine it made of _ice_, imagine -

The snowman shimmered, hardened and _moved_. The hole-mouth remade itself into a gaping jaw. It shook itself upright, a bulky, shambling creature with stumpy legs, a single cone-like arm and a massive, toothy chest.

Mouth opening impossibly wide. The snow-monster _roared_.

Narcissa screamed and scrambled behind Andromeda. Meda threw a snowball at the monster, her free hand covering her ears. The packed snow crashed against it and made a dent in its broad chest. Bellatrix frowned at the dent, almost disappointed. _Not ice then, just harder snow._

"Bella, you got it under control or do I need to destroy it?" Meda shouted over the earth-shattering growls.

Heart pounding, Bellatrix laughed and rushed shoulder-first into the snowman with a howl of glee.

Under her weight, the magically hardened snow gave away like a punched biscuit, swallowing her in chilly whiteness. Deafening roars surrounded her.

"Will you keep it down!" _That_ roar was very human.

Bellatrix crashed against the hard ground. Her lips tasted dirt. All the snow had vanished. She gasped as she stood, her legs bruised and wobbly. She clumsily pushed her thick curls out of her face. Her vision was blurry from tears. Something was wrong with her mouth. Something warm, sticky -

She spat out a tooth. _Ew_. As she wiped her mouth, the back of her hand came away slick with blood. She gasped again, reeling as the pain hit her.

Father stood before her in his black robes. He groaned and pointed his wand at her. "Open that mouth so I can fix your teeth. You look like a wildling."

The tooth fixing spell was like a stick shoved up her jaw. _Did the furniture feel _that _bad when it was reparoed?_

Still, the pain faded and her vision cleared, revealing Father glowering at her. "Bellatrix, you will sit over there, _quietly_. Until your tutor arrives."

_Merlin's balls_. Still, it was a good day, nobody was shouting.

She spared a mournful look at the empty place where her roaring snowman had stood. It was rare that her magic played along so well. _Such a perfect -_

"Stop kicking your legs or I'll tie you up," Father snapped.

Bellatrix tried to sit still on the stiff wooden chair Father had conjured. It was hard. It forced her to stare at the house instead of anything interesting. She couldn't help it, she wanted to _move_! She shivered, still wet from Cissy's treacherous attack. Suddenly, the melting snow was replaced by a feeling of comfortable warmth. The blood and dirt on her arm vanished.

Bean patted her leg with a look that was both sympathetic and exasperated. The elf conjured a shimmering hourglass, wandlessly, as elves did. "It be half an hour until time for your lessons, young mistress. Discipline be important skill to learn."

Bellatrix pictured Bean going up in flames in a _disciplined_ fashion, but no magic happened. Perhaps she just didn't mean it enough. _Discipline_. Ha-

"Merlin's pants, girl! _Incarcero_."

Bellatrix's eyes fell to her legs. Her _swinging_ legs. _Morgana_. _Stupid legs!_

Thin ropes bound her legs and arm, against the chair. Hard. The ropes dug into her clothes and skin, leaving her unable to do much more than grimace and blink.

Somehow, it was sort of better than being forced to sit quietly. At least she could concentrate on the discomfort, instead of having to stay still with _nothing_. Truth was, she didn't know what was wrong with her. Why even her little sister was so good at being still and she just... wasn't.

Seconds. Minutes. Bellatrix's eyes stayed glued to the hourglass. It was _slow_.

Meda's laughter tickled her ears. They had to be making a new snowman. A lady snowman. There would be no time for Bellatrix to join them before the tutor came. She wasn't even in the right direction to _watch_.

A thud. A playful squeal. They were throwing snowballs again. _Without her._

The ropes groaned as Bellatrix tried to kick them off. Not that they budged. Bellatrix could feel bruises blossoming on her legs and upper arms.

But she couldn't do _nothing_. She desperately stared at the hourglass, willing it _faster_. Her breathing quickened. She willed herself not to cry as the ropes constricted her chest.

Meda's laughter. More thuds. Running.

Bellatrix balled her hands into fists, her heart pounding in her ears. _Why? Why couldn't she just play? Why -_

A crack under her hand her grasp. She was projected backwards and landed, butt first, in a pile of snow right next to her wide-eyed sisters.

"Your magic's out of control," Meda warned, stifling a grin. "Nice flying."

Covered in snow and dirt, Bellatrix didn't mask her pride. "Nobody gets to chain me-"

She shrieked as an invisible hand grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and dragged her back to Father's feet.

_What, he'd been spying at her from inside instead of doing just about anything else?_

"Bellatrix, you're not the one who's going to win at this game."

And _that_ was the why of it. It wasn't about the noise. The house and grounds were big enough to find quiet even without spells. It was about _winning_.

_Fine_, she thought grumpily, bound once more. She'd win _next time._

"Girls, back inside. No more snow!"

Bellatix's heart clenched when Cissy gave her a dirty look. _It wasn't her fault!_ Andromeda winked when father couldn't see. Meda was good at staying calm about unfair things. Bellatrix was so glad Meda didn't blame her.

When the tutor finally arrived and _finally_, the ropes were released, Bellatrix's arms and legs shook. How Father expected her to stay still for two whole hours and listen to the lessons after been_ unable to move _for half an eternity -

It ended with her being sent to her room by the exasperated tutor, and Meda patiently telling her what she'd missed later.

It often did.

Father wasn't happy. He shouted. He punished.

He often did.

Bellatrix cried when her frustration grew stronger than her pride. Crying got things over with, she told herself. It wasn't weak. It was _smart_.

Father had won. Again.

She hated it.

_One day she'd win._

* * *

**So here's our first glimpse of Bellatrix. Rowdier and less analytical than her sisters. She probably could have been a perfectly normal child in a non-dysfunctional family. But the seeds have been sown and as we all know, it just gets worse.**

_About the Manor's location : I tried to stay broadly accurate in my depiction of West Ham (in 1850 it wasn't yet called West Ham, it was just the border of Essex, it became West Ham in 1886, and since 1965 it's part of the London borough of Newham). West Ham was so ravaged by poverty and illness outbreaks that Alfred Dickens (Charles' brother) who was a medical officer at the time, wrote a scathing report on the state of things in 1855. The area is obviously now much better off than it was in the 60s (let alone the 1850s), for all that it remains one of the less affluent boroughs._

_And there's probably a similarly reason for the ancestral Black house to be at Grimmauld Place instead of in the middle of nice big grounds in the countryside. From a storytelling point of view, I wanted to make Bellatrix's feelings for muggles visceral rather than 'just' taught prejudice (and also explain why there are so few Blacks)._


	9. B: A Lesson on Magic

**A big thank you to Son of Whitebeard, GRandElusYon and Verity for your reviews last chapter. **

* * *

**Winter 1964 – 10 year old ****Bellatrix**

With Meda at Hogwarts, Bellatrix was afraid the boredom would slay her.

She had gotten Mother and Father to buy her astronomy stuff to get through the winter. She'd learned her charts and tried to read her future in the stars. Hungry for something _exciting_. Narcissa played along and the stars had loads to say, but Bellatrix was no fool. Stars just sweet-talked you with vague useless promises.

"Bella, you _can't_."

"Mars is hiding Jupiter tonight. That means fortune favors the adventurous, come on!"

"No. We've been punished enough."

Narcissa was a slight, skinny thing; Bellatrix figured she probably could manage to bodily drag her outside. If only she could convince Cissy to let herself be tied up for a game...

"If you _must_ go," Cissy continued with a grumpy twist to her lips, "take a pillow and the bed-covers or you shall be forced to beg a muggle for shelter. Mother will lock you out again, and this time, she won't underestimate your skill at sneaking back in."

Bellatrix smiled smugly. _Skill all right._ Bellatrix slept through the night nowadays; watching muggles had become a habit of the past. She nevertheless hadn't forgotten how to _see._

Locked out of the manor when she'd tried to sneak in in time for supper, she'd circled the walls until she'd spied in which room their parents had stored her confiscated toy-broom. She'd _tried_ to get the windows to open from the inside, but without a wand, subtle magic was a hopeless endeavor. It had taken her _hours._ She'd been starving, shivering, and all but crying from desperation. But finally, _finally_, her magic had answered. The mantelpiece inside had crashed against the window without making noise. Bellatrix had then whispered for her broom and flown without a noise back to her room. The anti-intruder (more accurately anti-out-of-bed-children) wards were on the floor, so Bellatrix didn't get caught. She'd found a note under her pillow, from Cissy, saying there were honeybiscuits hidden behind the stack of Meda's letters.

_Fine_, Bellatrix owed Cissy for the honeybiscuits. And for being all charming and perfect the next day at the Parkinson's so Mother and Father came back in a good mood and decided to not punish Bellatrix for refusing to sleep outside like a street-muggle.

It's just that Bellatrix couldn't see a way to do _anything_ without getting in trouble these days.

Mother had lost the baby, a boy. And somehow, it was Father's fault she'd lost it. Or something. Mother had shouted about a spell. Perhaps Father had tried to use dark arts to make sure it was a boy this time and it had made the baby too weak to live. Mother's words jumbled when she was screaming, and Father had hexed Bellatrix when she had tried to listen in.

Obviously, Bellatrix wouldn't have to be an eavesdropping sneak if someone bothered to _explain _how long having any kind of fun in this house would be strictly forbidden.

She wished she were at Hogwarts with Meda. "Perhaps I could walk to Hogwarts from here?"

Cissy gave her that condescending _you're silly_ smile that little sisters shouldn't have a right to give their big sisters.

"Didn't you want to practice moving objects with your accidental magic? And there are those books Meda sent. A half-blood wrote them but they're good stories."

Bellatrix was tired of accidental. She wanted _magic_. She wasn't like Cissy and Meda who could stay inside all day and pretend. Who hid in books and all those things that weren't solid and real. Bellatrix wanted to run and feel and touch and smell, not just escape in _words_, even when those words held exciting magics.

She squared her jaw and grabbed a fistful of covers off her bed.

"Bella, no, I was _joking_. You can't go outside!"

"It won't kill me. Anything's better than in here. Go read Meda's books and stop bothering me."

Cissy stuck her chin up. "Fine," she hissed, "but you're an idiot. You'll be in so much trouble."

"And you're so well behaved you'll sort _Hufflepuff_."

Cissy stiffly turned her back to Bella and went back to her own bedroom without another word.

"You coward," Bellatrix muttered, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. It was magically softened and self-warming, adapting to her body temperature. Bellatrix was pretty sure she'd sleep tight even in a snowstorm.

She hurried through the grounds and out in the streets. It wasn't yet 5 PM, but the sun had fully set already. The flickering muggle lights were too few to dispel the gloom. Close to the manor, it was all rows of glued-together identical houses with no shops, everything flat and boring, except for the two gray jug-like towers of the power station. That's why Bellatrix had gotten locked outside last time, for finally caving into her curiosity to see from up close those gaping towers that spilled clouds into the air.

The cold had the muggles walking hastily. She passed other children, of the running and play-screaming kind. Their clothes were scruffy and often too large or too small as they chased after a boy and a girl who pranced on their bicycles as if they were Lords of the county.

Filthy muggles. Bellatrix hated them. Hated their laughter. Hated their friendly rowdiness. Hated how they got to spent the whole afternoon and evening, every day, outside.

"Hey, where are _you_ from?" That was a boy, older than her but not close to being a man. Between his lips, something like a tiny cigar. "Wanna play with them? I can introduce you."

Bellatrix bristled at been talked to out of turn. "No, you stink." She could _smell_ them. Beasts.

"New here, huh? We moved when my Da died. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." He pulled another tiny cigar from one of his too-large coat pockets. "Want a fag?"

Bellatrix shrugged and took one arm from under her covers. The 'fag' looked filthy but she hated not knowing. At home, everything was clear and named and known. Here everything was muddy : she had no words for what she looked at.

He used a small flame-machine to set fire to the end of the fag. "Breathe, but not too much."

Something bitter and awful filled Bellatrix's lungs. She began to choke.

He laughed as she gasped for breath.

_Poison_. _He was trying to poison her! _

"Hey, I -"

Eyes blazing with fury, Bellatrix shoved the burning end of the poison-fag in the muggles' face. She crushed it against the hand he'd hastily raised in protection. He doubled over holding his burned hand with a cry of pain. _Good_.

"You filth!" Bellatrix shouted before running off. What a fool she was, trusting muggles. She could already picture Cissy's '_nooo_, tell me you _didn't_' condescending stare.

Bellatrix kept running East where she knew London, the _proper_ London, the one with a history with wizards and not just muggles, was. When she couldn't run anymore, she walked. Tiny houses and bad smells gave way with bigger, nicer buildings and shops full of colors. The muggle lights here didn't flicker and there were enough to not need to squint to see where you were going. Fewer scruffy street-muggles crowded the walking paths and the roads roared with noisy motors. Lots of muggles seemed to be just strolling instead of going as fast as they could from one place to the next.

Bellatrix grinned in relief as she spotted the Tower of London. Finally, she knew where she was. She decided to aim for Saint James' Park. Ebony Greengrass had told her it was full of squirrels. Bellatrix hated Ebony for having stables when Bellatrix was stuck with parents who loathed everything living, but she _had_ let Bellatrix ride her horse, so they were friends of sorts. Bellatrix wanted to charm a real live squirrel to play with her. At this hour, the park shouldn't be infested with muggles.

Almost an hour later, her stomach grumbled as she stopped by the British museum and grumpily realized she should have stayed by the Thames instead of thinking she'd found a shortcut. London had looked _much_ smaller on the maps. She resignedly dragged her feet back closer to the river, not prepared to give up on the squirrels. Her nose scrunched up as delicious smells tickled it. Places that looked like inns were packed with suppering muggles, a kind that carried themselves like they mattered. Muffled music mixed with the conversation noises. Bellatrix stopped when she realized there was a _band_.

Bellatrix had never seen a live band. Father had promised to take Bellatrix to see the Hobgoblins if her tutor said she had gotten better than Ebony Greengrass at the violin. Morgana, Bellatrix _hated_ Ebony. She should have asked to learn the harp or piano like Cissy and Meda. It just that she'd stupidly thought Father would have let her play great-grandmother's enchanted violin once she'd gotten good enough and that, somehow, he'd have been proud.

Her nose was almost pressed on one of the windows when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Here, find yourself something warm to eat."

The woman wore a fat golden necklace and sparkling jewelry. Huh. A _lady_ muggle.

Bellatrix stared dumbly at the two strange tokens the muggle had pressed to her hand. "What are _those_?"

The blonde muggle had a man right next to her. His face was pinched in disapproval, like Father's right before he'd order Bean to clean Bellatrix up when she was dirty from playing outside.

"Come, Beatrice, I told you it's better to give directly to the Church. They'll make sure the money isn't wasted."

The two muggles awkwardly turned away from her, hurrying back to a waiting motor. Bellatrix just stared. Then she stared at the two tokens in her hand. _One pound_, each read. On the back, a woman's face._ Elisabeth II Regina._

What had possessed that lady-muggle to give her _money_?

Suddenly, a new muggle was standing in front of her. The man was all dressed in black, with silver buttons and some weird black riding helmet.

"Alright, kid, stop hanging out here. This is a respectable place."

Bellatrix blinked. Then it hit her. She'd seen it happen before, house-muggles giving money to the street-muggles. They thought she was a street-muggle. _Her_.

"I'm going to my Uncle's," Bellatrix snapped, tightening her hold on her wool blanket. "I know the way."

"'course you are. Show me what's under that."

Idiot muggle. Her. _She_ was under the blanket, what did he think? "No. It's cold."

"Don't talk back to me! Open those -" He grabbed her. The muggle _grabbed_ her.

Bellatrix jerked her arm away with a snarl and started running.

"Stop this instant you little thief!"

_Thief_? Morgana, what was _wrong_ with muggles?

He was faster. So she made a dash for the road. A black motor screeched, stopping short inches from her. The air filled with defeaning honks. She giggled at the bus driver's face as he swerved out of her way. He looked ready to hex her. _Poor helpless muggle. _

Her smile died and she gasped when something hit her, pushing her off her feet. Screams pierced the air. She crashed against the ground, her vision blurring.

She thought she heard a pop but with all the noise, she couldn't be sure.

Suddenly grass tickled her aching limbs. It was pitch dark and silent. But she could feel grass all around. She winced when light blinded her. Magical light. _What -_

"Young Mistress being very aggravating."

Bean. _Bean_ had popped her out of the muggle road.

"Young mistress being lucky her magic protected her. Young mistress being very lucky Bean being under orders to know when young mistress be doing magic."

So that's how Mother and Father had meant to keep her out this time: Bean. Bellatrix shook her head, trying to dispel the sluggishness that invaded her. Usually her magic didn't drain her _that_ much. It must've been a hard blow. She flexed her fingers and toes, just in case.

It was all that stupid muggle's fault. How dare he _grab_ her and call her a thief!

"Don't take me home. They don't want me there anyway. Can't you just get me food?"

Bean stared, that Bean-stare she had whenever Bellatrix got in trouble. It was hard to know what the wrinkled elf felt or thought.

Bean wordlessly popped away.

"Bean?" she tried as seconds became minutes. But Bean didn't _have_ to answer her. Bellatrix stared hard around her, trying to make sense of where she'd been apparated. There was nothing. Nothing but grass and bushes and the cloudy night sky.

What if Bean _didn't_ come back?

Everything ached, especially the muscles in her legs and back, where the motor had hit her. She couldn't believe the muggles had tried to _kill_ her. Beasts, the lot of them.

Bean still wasn't back. Perhaps Bellatrix would really have to sleep outside. She began feeling the ground with her hands, for somewhere flat and soft. The enchanted blanked was warm around her shoulders. It wouldn't be so bad. She'd have a good story for Meda, when Meda'd finally come back for Yule.

Her stomach churned once more. Bellatrix licked her lips. Perhaps she could find a rabbit, or something. _Anything_.

_Pop!_

Bellatrix grinned in relief. Her smiled broadened when Bean handed her saw some kind of fudge cake. It looked sticky and heavy and delicious. "Thank you, Bean." She took proper-sized bites despite her hunger because Bean got annoyed when they forgot their manners.

"Young Master Regulus being sick. Nobody can be coming and going. So you be going to Mistress Cassiopeia."

Bellatrix sucked in a slow breath. Not that she wanted to be around sick baby Reggie, just... She squared her shoulders and faked a confident demeanor. Her great-aunt Cassiopeia was interesting and powerful. She'd been all over the world.

It's just Bellatrix had no idea how to make Cassiopeia _like_ her.

* * *

"So you can't go home. You were about to sleep in the dirt." Aunt Cassiopeia shook her head as they sat across each other in the spacious living room. "What have you done to make your parents hate you so?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "I'm not a boy," she guessed.

The woman barked a laugh. "A boy wouldn't survive Cygnus. My dear nephew would kill him if he was weak, and kill him if he was better than him. His pride is so terribly fragile."

Bellatrix stared appraisingly at her great aunt. The witch was short and thin, with opal earrings and gray curls styled into a neat updo. Her robes were colorful, black warmed by deep reds, vibrant blues and dark greens, flirting with eccentricity yet cut in a way that made her look like the most important person in the room. Cassiopeia didn't come to see them often, and when she did, Father was never happy afterwards. But while she was there, voices got careful and respectful, and Father would talk of politics and serious things. Cassiopeia Black knew everything about everyone. She had _power_. More than anyone in the family, even Orion for all that he was Lord.

"Would you keep me? Until home stops being Azkaban?"

"Dramatic, aren't you? What possessed you to think I'm fine with childminding?"

Bellatrix bristled. How stupid to think a grownup would like her. Perhaps Cissy would have managed. But even Cissy didn't get fawned over by Aunt Cassiopeia.

"I don't need supervising, Ma'am," she promised, trying to be proper and polite. "I won't break anything. I'm almost old enough to go to Hogwarts."

The witch rolled her eyes. Bellatrix's own eyes were caught to a stack of long boxes in a corner. _Could those be -? _She jumped to her feet.

"Are those spare wands, Ma'am? Could I borrow it? _Please_."

"Why, don't you have magic of your own?"

Bellatrix's shoulders slumped. "I've tried to train it. It's... stubborn."

"Did you try to hurt yourself? If you make yourself bleed, your heart will race. When your body panics, your magic is closer to the surface."

Bellatrix winced, but she filed away the information for later. She'd keep her nails sharp if a few gashes were what it took to get her magic working without a wand.

"It's the key to power with dark arts, child. Strong emotions, harnessing them, staying in control _without_ suppressing them. You want me to show you?"

Bellatrix nodded eagerly.

"Then give me your hand."

Bellatrix did. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't the sharp crack on her little finger. Searing pain shot out her arm and she screamed. She... _silence_.

She screamed in her mind and no sound came out.

"Come now." Cassiopeia's voice was calm. Her blue eyes gleamed. "Heal yourself. Concentrate."

The pain blurred her aunt's words. It was seconds until the ten-year-old grasped their meaning.

_Stop the pain. _She desperately willed. _Fix the bone!_

"Your father would be unable to do this. Maybe I hold too high hopes for you."

Bellatrix shook as she cradled her arm. _Fix the bone!_

"There's a fine line, between a willful independent child and a wild child. Prepared to sleep on the ground, _seriously_."

_Wild child_, _wildling_, _some kind of beast_. Bellatrix ground her teeth. Would they ever stop calling her names! _Fix the bone!_

"Well perhaps I shouldn't be upset all of Cygnus' brood will marry into other lines. How mediocre the Blacks have become. It seems I must place all my hopes on Sirius."

Tears of pain blurring her vision, Bellatrix opened her mouth. The silencing spell stole away her words. _How dare she._ Even Father didn't _silence_ them.

_"FIX THE BONE!" _Dumb, useless magic!

Aunt Cassiopeia fiddled with her long white wand as she continued taunting Bellatrix. Bellatrix's eyes locked to the witch's hand. She needed that wand.

She _WANTED_ that wand.

Cassiopeia's hand twisted. _Shattered_. The witch screamed. The wand dropped to the floor.

_Oops_. Then again, Bellatrix had always been better at breaking things than fixing. She did wince despite the elation rising inside her. Her great-aunt would be _furious_.

The wand flew back to Cassiopeia's intact hand before Bellatrix could think to grab it. A potion zoomed through the air and into Cassiopeia's lap. The witch uncorked it and lifted it to her lips. In seconds, the bones seemed to reset themselves.

"You can't heal yourself wandlessly either?" Bellatrix exclaimed. Her eyes widened as she realized the silencing spell was broken. "Then why ask _me_ to?"

It wasn't a lesson. It was just taunting. Just Cassiopeia wanting to win. Just like Father. They were all the same.

"Because you're more powerful than me, child." Bellatrix shut her mouth, shocked to hear that, and even more shocked to hear it _admitted_. "But it's quite foolish to hurt your host. Not to mention unworthy of your breeding. For that I think you will be sleeping outside."

Cassiopeia flicked her wand. A gust of wind pushed Bellatrix off the ground and through the now open window. She tumbled on the muddy ground with a gasp, twisting her shoulder to protect her broken finger. Her blanket landed on top of her unceremoniously a few seconds later.

Bellatrix wrapped herself miserably. The pain shooting up her arm was duller, but it still _hurt_. And she didn't like the way her hand was all swollen.

"Bean? Bean!" Bellatrix whispered.

No answer. Black elves couldn't interfere in other Black houses without the house-owner's permission. Because some ancestors had used elves to kill each other. Bellatrix had dared hoped that since Cassiopeia had no elf of her own (she'd overheard that the woman had killed her last one years ago and didn't trust them), Bean would be able to come.

She tried to concentrate. _Fix the bone! _

_'Did you try to hurt yourself?'_

Bellatrix shuffled to the closest bush and snapped a branch off. Seated on the ground, she clamped her teeth shut and stabbed at her hand. Blood burst out of the wound as she whimpered.

_'Strong emotions, harnessing them'_

Bellatrix didn't know _what_ she was supposed to feel to heal her stupid finger She only felt rage. Rage at her parents, rage at Aunt Cassiopea. Rage at Meda for being gone. Rage at Cissy for being happy to stay at home. Rage at herself, for being so _helpless_.

Bellatrix screamed in the night. She stabbed herself again. To shut up her thoughts as much as to try to get her depleted magic to respond once more.

More pain shot through her. More blood. It covered her hand and wrist. It dripped on her lap. Bellatrix's breathing quickened as new panic welled inside her. _What was she doing? _On her knees now, she frantically wiped her hand on the blanket. Her head spun from hunger, exhaustion and pain.

This had to stop. She'd... _what if this was all a big joke? Cassiopeia trying to see if Bellatrix would kill herself? _She pressed her good hand against her wounds to staunch the flow but blood kept oozing out. Her teeth chattered in fear.

_Stop! Just stop!_

A new wave of dizziness had her pitch forward. Suddenly, she felt _nothing_. Frowning, she moved her bloody finger. It moved wrong. I wasn't healed. But it was silent. Everything was silent. The pain was gone. The blood on the back of her hand had gone still. Like frozen in the moment.

Her knees under her chin, she wrapped herself once more tight under her now bloody blanket. Shivering in fear and exhaustion, she soothed herself. _The blood's stopped. I'm not going to die. I didn't heal, but I made the pain go. _Her eyelids were heavy. The blanked warm on her back. She lowered her head to the ground, too tired to go anywhere.

Bellatrix blinked, confused, when she woke up in a soft bed. It was light outside. She couldn't remember falling asleep. She immediately examined both her hands. Clean. Bloodless. No outside wounds. No trace of dirt. She moved her fingers. Her right little finger twitched oddly. _Still broken._

There was a potion on her bedside. It looked identical to the one Cassiopeia had drunk the night before, so Bellatrix gingerly took a swallow. Her broken finger tingled. The girl sighed in relief and gulped the potion down.

"It gets easier when you learn to harness your wandless magic without needed pain or panic."

Bellatrix froze as her great-aunt appeared by the bedroom's door. The woman looked smug. Like she was proud. Like Bellatrix should be grateful.

_Should she?_ She _had_ managed to do magic in less time than – _It hurt!_ another, fierce voice whispered – But still, it _had_ worked. Aunt Cassiopeia _had_ taught her something.

"Will there be another lesson today?" Bellatrix said cautiously. Pain didn't last. Power did.

The gray-haired woman eyed her appraisingly. "You're a hotblooded child. Perhaps it can be made into a strength. I have a present for you."

_Oh?_ Bellatrix pushed herself out of bed. She belatedly realized she wore a satin nightdress with a neckline that plunged ridiculously low on her flat chest. She blinked, realizing what a mid-thigh length for her meant about the dress' cut on a grown woman. She stared back at Aunt Cassiopeia, who looked much too old to be engaging in that kind of adult fun. "You still wear this, Ma'am?"

Cassiopeia laughed, a cheerful laugh with no edge. Bellatrix found herself relaxing. She almost never made her parents laugh like that.

"Good girl, you bounce back fast. Call me Aunt Cassie. It'll be easier if you don't fear me too much."

_Why should Bellatrix fear her? _She'd never leave her room if angry grownups and a little pain scared her.

She smiled tentatively. "You said a present, Aunt Cassie?"

Breakfast was first, and Bellatrix honestly wouldn't have minded had _that_ been the present. Yesterday's fudge had been the only thing she'd eaten since lunch and magic always left her starving.

The two witches then went into an unusually bare, rectangular room bathed in light by four windows. Cassiopeia pulled out a reddish-brown wand from her robes and handed it to Bellatrix. Eyes wide, her mouth suddenly dry, Bellatrix gingerly took it, marveling at its warmth and smoothness. It pulsed faintly under her palm. _Magic_. _Proper_ magic.

"Hold it tight. We'll duel." _Duel? For real?_ "What spell do you want to learn first?"

_First_. There were _so many_. _Flying_ was at the tip of her tongue, but it was advanced magic of the kind even Mother and Father couldn't cast. What if Bellatrix failed, and Aunt Cassie decided she wasn't worth teaching?

"Incarcerous," she finally whispered. Father's favorite punishment. She was eager to see how it felt to be the one casting it instead of the one trapped in the chafing ropes.

Aunt Cassie gave her an appraising look. "That spell is a conjuration, girl. It was part of my practical transfigurations _NEWT_."

"Father can cast it. You said I was more powerful."

Bellatrix's confidence withered at her aunt's new smile. A smile that said that she _would_ fail."Or," Bellatrix decided. "I could first learn with ropes already there. Without having to conjure them."

"Wise."

Cassiopeia flicked her wands and a bundle of ropes appeared at their feet.

"I can teach you the light spell, where you must levitate the ropes and then twist them around your target. You'll have to visualize the ropes' movements for it to succeed. Or I can teach you the dark spell, where your focus is not on the ropes, but on the entrapment. The ropes will twist by themselves to achieve the result you intend, as long as your intent is powered by suitably strong emotions."

The dark sounded much easier. Who cared about how exactly the ropes were to twist? Nevertheless, Bellatrix wasn't ignorant. Nobody warned anybody about excess_ light magic_.

"What's dangerous about the dark?"

"Oh, the usual. Spend too much time hating your target to get the proper intent and you become a hateful person. Your magic will encourage it. It will thrive on Dark Arts, but, like a child in front of a bowl of candy, it won't know when to stop. If your magic wins against your mind, it'll be a question of whether you get yourself killed or if aurors shut you in Azkaban first. Your emotions will be less in tune with events and reality, constructed instead by your mind and magic as fuel for your spells.

Bellatrix blinked. It was right there, tickling her mind, realizations regarding her family and many of the families the Blacks were closest to. Understanding how Cassiopeia Black could so dispassionately break her great-niece's finger and throw her out one day, and the next day happily teach her magic. But the prospect of learning a spell, with a _wand_, dispelled them all.

"The light sounds harder, though," Bellatrix said, conflicted.

"Well, light doesn't require a specific mood or mindset, it's just visualization and rational focus. The more spells you learn, the easier it is to learn a new one. But at your age, especially a little girl boiling with feelings like you, dark will come easier." Her hand reached out to Bellatrix's face. Bellatrix winced but Aunt Cassie's fingers just cupped her chin softly. The woman smiled thoughtfully. "You don't have to _hate_ the target. Hate consumes. I prefer curiosity when the two can be substituted. Only, everybody has the ability to hate. Curiosity is harder to summon if it is not in your character."

"Oh, I'm curious, Aunt Cassie!"

"So I've seen." _This_ new smile held no promise of failure. Aunt Cassie looked as eager to start as Bellatrix was. "We can try the dark spell."

The target was a doll. It looked like Father, with a mop of curly black hair, an angry frown and everything. Aunt Cassie smiled knowingly at her. Their secret. Bellatrix laughed in delight.

It wasn't easy to make the long length of rope obey. It twitched like a bothered snake. _Curiosity_. Bellatrix took a deep breath and concentrated, an eager smile on her lips.

_What would doll-Father look like with a rope tightened around it? Would the stuffing explode?_

It took almost ten tries to get the ropes to fly in the dolls face. But finally, after close to half-an-hour, the rope wrapped itself around doll-Father's neck. Bellatrix grinned when the stuffing _did_ explode.

"Perfect," Aunt Cassie said once Bellatrix had succeeded three times in a row. "Now we can duel."

Bellatrix's proud smile faltered. Now she realized why light spells could be preferred. Ropes were always ropes. But Aunt Cassie wasn't Father-doll and yet Bellatrix had to muster the same intent. She concentrated. _Curiosity_. Aunt Cassiopeia was powerful. _Could Bellatrix successfully trap her? Could she prove to them all that she wasn't helpless?_

Beneath the curiosity, the familiar fury stirred away. The ropes flew clumsily forwards, so clumsily the older witch just stepped aside.

"Expelliarmus," Cassiopeia said, her quiet confidence quite at odds with Bellatrix's red-faced efforts. A jet of red light that shot from her wand.

Bellatrix tried to duck, but it was like the spell twisted to hit her. An invisible hand ripped the wand out of her hand, so violently she fell forwards. Her knees slammed against the marble floor. _Ow_.

Bellatrix pushed herself up, equally thrilled (her first duel!) and annoyed at herself. Her wand was in Aunt Cassie's hand.

The witch's eyes went pointedly from Bellatrix to the wand. "Oh, well, that's too bad, I'll keep it now."

Bellatrix's face fell. Tears sprang to her eyes and she swiftly willed them back. Willed the crushing disappointment to not be visible. _Of course._ Aunt Cassie wanted to show she had won. Perhaps the woman was different, but not _that_ different. At least Bellatrix had learned a spell.

"Bella, my dear, you're a witch. You smothered your disappointment instead of using it like a hook to summon the wand back to you. Emotions are fuel, remember? Now that you're all walled off, the wand's lost to you."

_Merlin's balls. Why couldn't Aunt Cassie have said -_

"Next time: Thursday. I'm taking you home and I'll have a word with your Father. Don't forget to grip your wand harder, next time."

Bellatrix nodded, her disappointment replaced by giddiness. _Next time._

* * *

Bellatrix hadn't gotten punished. Whatever Aunt Cassie had told her parents, it had worked better than the best shielding charm.

"Why can't _she_ be our mother?"

Cissy pulled a face. "She's Father's aunt. It's too close. Can you imagine, marrying Uncle Orion?" Bellatrix shoved her, because _ew_ and that was _not the point_. "Careful," Cissy teased, "he married a Black once already." The mischievous glint in her eyes vanished. "I'm glad she's nice to you, Bella. What did you learn?"

"Well, first she broke my hand -" Cissy flinched. She was still frowning when Bellatrix had explained it all.

"So how is it done, then?" Narcissa said, her eyes wide and serious.

"What?"

"Healing. If anger or fear were enough, it should have worked for you. Perhaps..."

"_What_?"

"You were calling your finger _dumb_ a lot, but it's not its fault. You and your finger are allies. Healing is supposed to be, well, nice."

Bellatrix bit her lip. "If I get a bone-knitting potion just in case, I _could_ try again and be nice." Just the thought of feeling that pain again made her stomach tighten. Still, even Aunt Cassiopeia couldn't manage that kind of healing. If Bellatrix did and showed the witch _she_ could manage it-

Cissy shook her head slowly. "_I_ want to learn it. Face it, Bella, you're not _nice_. It's okay. If it works for me, I'll teach you."

Bellatrix frowned. A feeling she couldn't name welled inside her. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ Cissy to try. Imagining her on the ground, blood all over her- Anger welled inside Bellatrix and she pushed the thought away. She couldn't find a good reason to forbid her little sister, though.

Next Thursday, she asked Aunt Cassie if she could teach Cissy too.

"No. _You _are a Black. Look at her, with her blonde locks, fake innocence and her flower name. She's a Rosier just like your Mother. She'll marry into another line and forget us. She's not as powerful as you are. She'd hold you back."

Bellatrix frowned. Sure, Cissy was little and everything, but she wasn't _weak_. She wasn't _disloyal_. And – Bellatrix recognized the warning gleam in Aunt Cassie's eyes.

Bellatrix changed her expression and nodded. "You're right. I don't want Narcissa here either," she said. Not that it was _wholly_ a lie, only -

"She's jealous of me," Cissy said later, looking annoyed. "She wants you all to herself so she can be your favorite. You just teach me and don't tell her. We'll duel together in secret. It's alright."

Bellatrix sometimes marveled at Cissy's ability to just know _why_ people acted like they did. _Cassiopeia_ wanted _her_, like Bellatrix was this precious thing. A nice, warm feeling filled Bellatrix's chest.

"You have the bone-knitting potions?"

"Yes." Bellatrix answered, smiling at her little sister. Too bad Aunt Cassie didn't like her. "Four vials."

* * *

**AN: Next up, Bellatrix's Hogwarts years. **

**Of the Black sisters, I'm finding Bellatrix the hardest to write. I needed more setup than with the other sisters to get a solid feel of what kind of child/teen she could have been and what set her on the path she took. I hope this didn't disappoint. **


	10. B: The Meaning of Power, Part 1

**Thank you Paul for your reviews. I really appreciate them. **Like I said on Checkmate, don't hesitate to create an account if you ever want me to answer and discuss those good points you raise.

**This chapter is actually part 1 of 2 of a larger block. **I cut it in half to keep the chapters under 5000 words.

* * *

**Bellatrix – 1968, first term of Bellatrix's 4th year.**

It was early in the morning, so early the Slytherin common room was almost empty except for a few students scribbling desperately on essays due in a few hours. Bellatrix, in her running robes, was ready to head outside. Running before class helped her concentrate, and she liked what exercise did to her body : the rush as she pushed herself, the extra energy when she powered her spells, and of course the toned muscles she needed no glamours to show off. The wind's bite tingled against her warming charms these days, like a relentless enemy too weak to slow her down.

"Bellatrix! Head's up on page 6."

Bellatrix caught the Daily Prophet Rodolphus Lestrange threw her. She shuffled through it and swore. _Morgana's tits, not again !_

_'International Scandal barely averted as eighteen year old French rising Quidditch star was spotted at one of Alphard Blacks' notorious parties._

_Young Miss Faucon came polyjuiced into a yet-to-be-identified sultry middle-aged witch, and Mr. Black's soirees are of the kind where uninvited strangers are the norm. The polyjuice's effect suddenly wore off around 1 AM, allegedly due to an unfortunate mixing of mind-altering potions, revealing the intoxicated Miss Faucon's presence to all. Pictures of her scantily clad and singing while straddling one of the couches were sent to one of the less reputable __French__ papers before the teenager could be escorted out. _

_Miss Faucon's family and her agent are understandably irate. __The accusations of impropriety, including being called a 'satyr' by Miss Faucon's agent, were met with Mr. Black's usual lack of shame "perhaps you should wonder why a lass like her feels the need to come to England to have some fun. Is France really so boring?". As it was established that she had already been polyjuiced when entering British soil, Mr. Black has not committed any crime.'_

Bellatrix exhaled through clenched teeth. There : _no crime_. But the Prophet still had nothing better to do then wag their chins until they ran out of ink. There was another whole _page_. The picture of witches and wizards wearing feathered masks, racy underwear and little else on their oiled bodies did _not_ help.

_'Nevertheless, in 1966 alone, Mr. Black had to pay 607 galleons in fines regarding the possession of mind-altering potions, and was involved in a distasteful affair of adults polyjuiced as young teenagers to indulge in their deviant sex practices (it was established that no actual minors were involved). Last summer, Mr. Black -'_

The Prophet delighted in reminding the Isles just how much her uncle Alphard liked things loud, crowded and crazy. She could expect a whole day of snide comments. Uncle Orion had been muttering about blasting him off the tapestry for years.

"So, how much of the Black family fortune is drug money?" Bellatrix glared at Rod. She didn't hex him because he was whispering too low to be overheard. His smile was lazy and confident. "Don't worry, they'd never admit it, but half of England's been to at least one of his parties. As long as nobody important dies, he's safe."

The Lestranges were the kind of family that called upon the Blacks, and that Bellatrix's parents called upon in return. So she'd known Rod, who was the same age as her, and his brother Rabastan, who'd just graduated, all her life. He was a fat boy with thick black hair, a strong nose and a lopsided smile. He laughed too loudly and was a terrible gossip. He didn't last one minute in a duel against her but he didn't mind losing weekly. He wasn't all that bad.

"I bet you a galleon you don't manage to hex less than three people today."

"Deal, I'll just wait tomorrow to hex them."

"You won't wait, Bella. You just can't." Rod had been a boring kid. Now, he was getting better.

"Five galleons. One's not worth betting over."

"Can you believe I'm actually paying to keep you from getting expelled? I want some of those nice potions of your uncle's in a nice wrapping for Yule."

Bella grimaced. "We never see him." '_Consorting with mudbloods and other trash.' 'The heights of debauchery.' _She knew Uncle Alphard sometimes showed up at his sister's, because Aunt Walburga had a soft spot for him, but he and Father hated each other.

"Shame. Your father shaking his hips would be a striking sight. How's the old man's singing?"

Bellatrix whacked Rodolphus with the paper. "Shut up and finish your essay."

"Laugh it off instead of getting yourself banned from Hogsmeade again."

Yeah. Bellatrix had to practice that. She just didn't like people mouthing off about her family.

Predictably, half of Hogwarts had nothing better to talk about that day.

"Bellatrix, when are you getting us an invitation?"

Her housemates were _so_ funny. Bellatrix's wand was already half drawn when she remembered to smile tightly instead. She hurried to class, wand shoved back down her pocket.

"_You won't wait, Bella. You just can't," _Rodolphus had said. Not "_won't"_, "_can't"_. Like she had no control. Perhaps, just this time, she _could_ ignore it. Meda did, and people didn't go whispering at Meda, not like they did at her.

"Oi Black, your Uncle selling any half-naked pictures of your mother?" Five against one. Upper years. Those brave Gryffindors.

Bellatrix kept her eyes in front of her and her mouth clenched. Of course, fifteen seconds later, a half-dozen scathing comebacks battled for attention in her brain. "_You rub it off to each others' mothers? Even Gibbon's?". _Unfortunately, her wand arm had always been quicker than her mouth.

"Such hypocrites. Pass laws to keep muggleborn out of jobs but then polyjuice yourselves to go to parties where you suck halfblood dick. Everybody knows you use the purity argument because you've got nothing else going for you."

That was an actual _second year_ Ravenclaw. Bellatrix told herself she might have lethally shattered the kid's ribcage had she let a hex loose. The blood-traitor wasn't worth it.

She almost blew her cauldron out of spite when Slughorn just _had_ to bring it up during the last period. "You know, Miss Black, events were people have their inhibitions down are actually great networking opportunities."

"Are you guys picturing the prof in those leather straps right now? Because I am."

The class' two back rows groaned at the mental image, while Slughorn prattled on, oblivious. _Thanks, Orpington. _Bloody Hufflepuffs.

Her hands were shaking by the time she reached the Slytherin common room. She stiffened as the stone wall slid back into place beside her and one of her yearmates immediately turned to her.

Nimue Goshawk flapping a copy of the Prophet in her direction was _not_ what she needed right now. "You got a feathered mask like that at home?" Goshawk asked, her eyes wide in scandalized delight. "Does Narcissa?"

Bellatrix had put her wand at the bottom of her bag, under the books, where it was hard to draw in less than five seconds. It was the only way she'd found to not snap.

Except this time, it was her fist who shot out. Goshawk gasped in shock and pain. She'd moved fast enough to avoid a broken nose, but not a solid bruise on her jaw.

Goshawk crossed her arms, utter disdain curling her lips. "You did _not_ just punch me like some muggle! How old are you, Black, _four_?"

Somebody, more than one somebody, smothered a laugh. _Don't get expelled. Just don't get expelled._

"You want some of Uncle Alphard's masks and lingerie for yourself, Nimue, is that it? In the hope Pedrus would change his mind?" Narcissa's smile was as pretty as it was fake. "Look Pedrus, what poor Nimue does for you. That's true love."

Bellatrix wished she could think fast like Cissy. Nobody got expelled for words, not _those_ words at least. Pedrus Avery couldn't contain his smile and Nimue looked like she'd been punched a second time, only ten times harder.

It wasn't fair. Why did the rules protect these people? Those gossip hungry parasites that would have been so easy to _squash_.

She wished Aunt Cassy could come to Hogwarts, but the witch was in _Mozambique_ of all places living the high life with an ambassador friend of hers. It was very like Aunt Cassy, to be terribly invested in Bellatrix's magical training for a few months and then not so much as answer Bellatrix's letters for weeks. Then she would show up once more, as if nothing had happened. Bellatrix had tried protesting. That had earned her four months' silence in her second year. Aunt Cassy had made it _very_ clear that _she_ made the rules and that she didn't appreciate being challenged.

Bellatrix stopped by Gareth Selwyn. The older boy was absently shuffling through class notes on one of the armchairs and thankfully looking in no mood for study. "You up for a duel?" she asked, trying to pretend she'd not care if he said no. If he said no, she'd go back outside and blast a tree to ashes. You didn't get expelled for killing a _tree_, and with regular blasting curses, it should take a while.

Selwyn gave her a smug smile she decided to forget about since he _did_ get up. Some of the tightness in her chest unloosened as he walked by her side. Finding a spare classroom in the dungeons was never hard. You just had to remember to check for boggarts and clear the cobwebs.

Gareth Selwyn had almond eyes, thin lips, a slightly hooked nose and long brown hair gathered in a ponytail, like many high-class purebloods these days. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was broad and it was all muscle. The seventh year wasn't the _best_ dueler in Slytherin, but he was good enough to give Bellatrix a solid challenge. Besides, like her, he found this _fun_. That alone made him her favorite.

It had been months since she'd been beaten by anyone who wasn't at least a sixth year. The pool of people who agreed to duel her had never been smaller. Even Meda, who knew Bella's style by heart, still had second-year Cissy casting jinxes by her side to have a chance (although, with the blood bindings they'd cast at the end of last year, their spells splashed against each other with remarkable inefficiency). The problem with dueling her sisters was that she was stuck with light spells : she just couldn't stare at _Cissy _and imagine her choking in strangling ropes with enough conviction for it the spell to work. Meda's skin burning, even if Bellatrix _knew_ the curse wouldn't latch on because of the blood-bindings, wasn't something she could muster much enthusiasm for. At least with Selwyn, who was entertaining but also a vicious bastard who hadn't hesitated to transfigure her shoes into a mat of thick needles during their second duel, Bellatrix had no such hold ups.

Bella sometimes let herself bask in the feeling she was just _that_ powerful, but the truth was more maddening : the others didn't even _try_. She'd not spent more hours poring over books than the average sixth year, but she'd sure spent more hours _casting_. Magic wasn't just something you did with your brain and wand arm, it was your whole body, moving, dancing to make the spells fit together seamlessly, to familiarize your magic with every incantation until your body knew _exactly_ how to respond. You couldn't pretend to master a spell if you'd never gotten sweaty casting it over and over.

Aunt Cassy knew that well. The witch enjoyed seeing Bella willingly inflict pain upon herself more than she enjoyed seeing Bella learn, but it didn't matter. Bellatrix could handle pain if it meant growing stronger. Soon, she'd be strong enough to set her own rules.

With a swipe of her wand, she padded the walls, the ground and ceiling, and her clothes. A thick cushy fabric covered every exposed surface. It allowed them to try harder and limit accidents. She'd never be _great_ at healing spells, but she'd gotten good enough to avoid trouble.

Selwyn shot a stunner. _Cute_. She willed herself away, magic wrapping her like a cloud. Conjured incarcerating ropes shot out of her wand before the displacement spell had fully dispelled. She'd mastered the spell at the end of her second year, and she made a point to work it into every single duel. The ropes whipped the air, twisting themselves into lassos and nets, aiming for the limbs. Selwyn knew to expect it. His conjuring a wall of blades sliced the ropes into harmless pieces. But this time, one of the ropes was thick wire. The blades shattered against it. Selwyn's leg was pulled forward and upwards by a the noose of fire.

Selwyn's strength was his balance. He cast silently and pretty much in any position. His trapped leg was half a yard above his head when blinding light filled the empty classroom, leaving Bellatrix to guess his position. The telltale brush of air of a displacement charm teased her as none of her spells found a target.

The too-bright light died. _There_. He'd had time to dispel the rope. Bellatrix didn't feel in a subtle mood. She aimed one blast after the other straight at him. Honest light magic. She wanted to calm down, not to fuel the fury sizzling under her skin. She kept the blasts focused, coming fast, forcing Selwyn into a purely defensive position as he desperately cast shield after shield.

Seconds became minutes, one spell became fifty. The magic crashed against Selwyn's full body shields, building up into a blazing wall of blue energy as new spells hit before the previous ones could fizzle out entirely.

Sweat poured down Bellatrix's forehead. She smiled as her breathing quickened. She felt better already. Maybe she'd even manage to concentrate on her Herbology essay.

Suddenly, something grabbed her wand arm. She blinked stupidly at Selwyn's hand. It was wrapped around her wrist and forced her wand to point downwards. The eighteen year old was grinning at her.

"Didn't see me inching closer with all that magic hiding me?" And didn't he look smug.

_Morgana's tits_. Bellatrix shut her eyes in aggravation, a smile nevertheless quirking her lips. She liked challenges. And as long as Selwyn won often enough, he'd not get fed up. She'd gotten complacent, she'd not stay still in the same place and allow magic to block her target from her sight again.

Something warm pressed against her lips. Her eyes flew open in shock.

Selwyn's hand was still around her wrist. She couldn't move her wand arm. His other hand was on her side. Like an awkward hug. She could feel each of his fingers on her left breast. _No, not like a hug. _

Her body was frozen, her brain's empty as he kissed her again. She managed to force her lips shut and turn her face away "What -" she spluttered.

"Oh come on, what are we doing here?"

"Duelling?" she replied dumbly. She could smell his sweat. His hands were still _there, _creasing her robes. His thumb roaming to her nipple. She tried to tug on her wand, but his hand covered her own, she couldn't move it. He didn't budge.

"Sure. Duelling's nice. It's like Quidditch for angry people. We've been duelling a lot Bellatrix. I've got my NEWTs coming this year. Surely you didn't think it was _just_ dueling."

_Quidditch for angry people._ Suddenly she didn't know what to do with his words anymore than she knew what to do about his hands. "Dueling is how you get powerful."

Selwyn laughed. He actually _laughed_. A friendly chuckle like she was hilarious. It got the hand off her breast. Bellatrix twisted her body away from him. He still held her right hand. And her wand.

"You're going to duel your way into the Wizengamot?" He challenged, with that smile of his, like she was this cute, silly thing. "You're going to duel your way to respect if people disagree with you? All the way out of Hogwarts and into to Azkaban? Connections, politics, the right favors and knowledge, _that's_ where power is."

He brushed her chin. His fingers tightened around her jaw. "You're beautiful Bella, and your magic is something rare. Don't be shy."

Mother would trap her jaw like that when she'd been smaller, to force Bellatrix to look at her.

That shook Bellatrix out of her shock. She wanted him _OFF_.

Magic surged around her, tearing his fingers off her, shoving him backwards. He cried out in shock and pain. Bellatrix regretted having padded the room as he crashed against the ground.

Her wand pointed at his head as he pushed himself upright.

_How dare he. _"I'm Bellatrix Black. I won't get expelled. You deserve this."

"And I'm Gareth Selwyn," he said, standing up. _Standing up! _His own wand in hand but lowered, as if Bellatrix was no threat at all. "My mother is Serena Rowle. The Minister eats at our table. You Blacks are that runt little cousin we just can't get rid of. You amuse and horrify us. You could be great, Bella. You're not like your parents. But you'll be nothing if you don't stop behaving like an irate hippogriff."

"What you talk of, weak people banding together and making rules to shackle those with true power, that's not power, that's -

"_Civilization_," he cut in, scorn bleeding in his every word. "_Politics_. It's what society is all about. You fooled me there," he wasn't looking at her face anymore, but at her body, in a way that made Bellatrix feel like her body was suddenly betraying her. "I hadn't realized you still were such a child."

She saw his arm move. She could see he was about to touch her bum, yet she froze again as his hand got closer. Froze as he squeezed her. His breath tickled her ear as he released her.

"You know you like me," he said with a wink. "It's alright, you can learn to play the politics game, Bella. Can't _learn_ magical power. Come with me to the Slug Club, I'll make sure you meet the right people."

He left. He _left_ and Bellatrix still didn't hex him. It was as if her arm was lead. She touched her wet lips, still feeling numb. _How could he? Why would Selwyn ever think she – She'd never _once_ thought – _He hadn't hurt her, there was no pain, there would be no bruises. _He- Was _that _what love looked like?_ She swallowed, feeling ill.

A million hexes filled her mind now. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, breathing hard._ Had he cast a spell on her, to make her so helpless ?_ Her heart punched her ribcage. No, this was all her.

She went back to the common room, still half in a daze. She caught Callista Travers, the seventh year Prefect, staring at her.

"What?" Bellatrix hissed as the witch intercepted her on the way to her dorm.

"I get the appeal of older guys, I do," Travers said, calm and serious like this was about homework, "but don't believe it when they say you're mature for your age. It's a trick to get you to agree to stuff you wouldn't have done otherwise to impress them."

_Morgana_. Had Selwyn come strutting in announcing that she - "I'm _not_ with Selwyn!"

The prefect gave her a look. Her lips curled. "You're not all that special, Black. You're pretty obvious, actually. Just use contraceptive spells, okay ?"

There was no lead in her arms this time, no dust in her brain, as Bellatrix raised her wand to the older girl.

"Incarcerous," she hissed.

Hands, ankles, _neck. _Bellatrix wanted it to _hurt_ before the bones snapped. Travers gurgled, her eyes bulging as the chafing ropes gar rotted her limbs. She tumbled backwards like a wooden plank. Her head struck the floor. Bellatrix frowned at the silence. Well, _Travers_' silence. Around her people were shouting now. Travers suddenly screamed as the rope against her neck loosened._ Better. Much better._ That was the satisfying thing about dark arts. The spells understood you.

She blinked when the ropes vanished. Meda's hand was on her arm, her wand had freed Travers. "Dorm _now_. Before we end up dueling half the common room."

"Merlin, Black," Travers choked, "I'll -"

"I'll kill you!" Bellatrix shouted as Meda yanked her towards their dorm. "They won't stick me in Azkaban _before_ I kill you, so I'll get you first. I don't care!"

"What's going on?" Narcissa exclaimed, turning away from the dorm's mirror as her sisters pushed the dorm's door open. The reflection shimmered, returning to normal.

_Someone was trying to invent a new spell. _

Bellatrix let herself fall on her bed, breathing hard. Meda was looking at her wide-eyed, like she was insane. Like she was a little scared of her.

Bellatrix's eyes filled with tears. "I _hate_ Uncle Alphard!"

Cissy and Meda shared a look.

"We're going to stay here, until you tell us what it's really about," Andromeda said.

Her big sister then settled next to her, stretching out on Bellatrix's bed, one of her muggle novels in her hands. _On the Road, Jack Kerouac._

"Is there sex in that?"

Meda shook her head mournfully. "It's like muggles are scared to even write the word. It's about traveling and family in muggle America. Honestly, I'm not understanding half of it."

_'Why are you reading this, then?'_ Was on the tip of Bellatrix's lips. She knew not to bother by now, though. Meda was weird about her muggle books.

It took a few hours, and Narcissa going to the kitchens to get them dinner when their stomachs began to growl, but, finally, Bellatrix talked.

* * *

"I don't want abstract, long-term, political revenge," Bellatrix huffed.

"Reputations aren't _abstract_," Cissy protested.

But Narcissa's plan was too long, and involved too much _talk_. Too much pretending. "I want to hurt him and see him hurt. _Today_. I just don't want to get expelled."

"It must look like an accident," Andromeda warned. "Better if he's doing something forbidden so he will have incentive to keep quiet."

"Better still if he does not even notice it was your idea that got him in trouble," Cissy chimed in.

It took asking for a favor, and Bellatrix hated that. But there was no way to do it without Ravenclaw help. Ebony Greengrass agreed, because she disliked debts, even if the debt was because Bellatrix had goaded her into breaking the rules while they'd been riding together as girls.

A few weeks before Halloween, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had pooled together to buy three new professional grade Cleansweeps for their beaters and their seeker. The brooms were the talk of the school. They had caused a rift in the Slytherin team, because there was no money for seven brooms, only for four, and nobody was agreeing to pay for a broom they wouldn't ride.

The duel with Selwyn had happened nine days before.

"Selwyn, I've been thinking." Bellatrix told Selwyn, because she had to admit that Cissy was right: manipulation could save one a lot of time and effort. "How about actual Quidditch this time? Can you break into the Ravenclaw locker?"

Selwyn, who'd been Beater during his fourth and fifth years, nodded after a pause. His I-told-you-so smirk had Bellatrix annoyed enough to almost ruin it, but she forced herself to pretend. It was _good_ that he was happy. He wasn't happy at all when he crashed against the frozen ground at 2AM, splintering the broom in half. He _had_ cast a cushioning charm, but the new Cleansweep came with anti-theft charms that nullified spells cast in the broom's vicinity. Ebony had activated them, and cast a delayed weight-charm that would activate at twenty-five feet, dragging the broom downwards as fast as gravity would allow (pity they hadn't found a spell to make the broom accelerate as well). Bellatrix had not told her what she needed the broom for, and Ebony had made sure not to ask. She was indebted, not stupid.

Bellatrix's broom had been hexed too, or it would've been too suspicious, except she jumped off instead of holding on, so her conjuring spell worked and the broom, lighter when it crashed, did not break. She grinned into the soft mattress before schooling her face once more. Not that Selwyn could see her expression in the darkness, but it'd be a shame to ruin things now.

She dragged Selwyn and his broken bones to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey didn't ask questions. She never did. Slughorn didn't need to : the Ravenclaw brooms were damning evidence and Flitwick didn't want to inquire who had reactivated the anti-theft charms because he was too furious about the broken Cleansweep.

Selwyn had been right: he was a Selwyn, son of the most powerful Rowle branch, and it mattered. He didn't get expelled. He had his NEWTS exams coming up, and so he didn't get too many detentions, because _the lad doesn't deserve to have his future ruined_. But he was older, he alone had destroyed the broom he'd been riding on, and it was _his_ wand that had been used to break into the Ravenclaw broom locker and so Bellatrix couldn't decently be punished more than he'd been.

It was a perfect victory. She'd seen him scream and cry in pain. The night in the hospital must have been agony. The Ravenclaws _loathed_ him now. And from the way he avoided her, he suspected it had been no accident, but couldn't do anything about it. Just telling anyone would make him look like a complete fool. It was nice, to see him tense at her presence instead of the amused, confident looks he used to shoot her.

But she still stiffened, filled by a feeling of helplessness, whenever she saw him. She still dreamed of him. Of his fingers. Of freezing. Of her father laughing at her and saying _'well, look at that, no need for the incarcerous anymore'_. It's wasn't enough. Bellatrix had no idea what to do to make it enough.

"_You thought he was your friend. He betrayed you. That's why you're so angry. It's fair," _Cissy had said, and it did help to have it set like that.

It didn't explain why she'd just _frozen_. Why she'd let him think that deep down, she didn't mind so much.


	11. B: The Meaning of Power, Part 2

**Part 2, December 1968**

"No, no, no, it's no place for children."

Uncle Alphard was as bald as he was bearded, with a full beard and a thick upturned mustache he dyed a tacky unnatural blonde. The resemblance with Father and Aunt Walburga was there, but this time, the Black traits on his face failed to make a handsome mix. His eyes were too close to his nose, his un-dyed dark eyebrows too thick, his mouth too full. His skin was wrinkled for his age, proof of all the filth he'd imbibed, smoked and spread over himself. There was no way around it, the guy looked creepy.

He and Bellatrix were sitting on a log outside of Hogsmeade with two bottles of butterbeer, cloaked by a disillusionment field. Not that much would have been visible anyway: a thick curtain of rain made everything farther than three feet invisible. Bellatrix drank to whoever had invented rain-repelling shields.

"I'm almost fifteen, not a _child_. I just want to see what those parties of yours are like. You keep saying it's __fun__." All the drama at Hogwarts was getting to her. She needed to get outside the walls for a while. "Why d'you come if it's just to tell me no?"

"Because that was the first owl you've ever sent me, Pumpkin." __Pumpkin?__ __Seriously___?_ "I said 'no soiree'. I didn't say 'no _everything'_. Anything too important to miss next Tuesday?"

"No." Due assignments she could give to Rod. Missing one Charms test wouldn't fail her. "You're telling me to sneak out of the castle?"

He nodded, his dark eyes sparkling. "I'll have a surprise ready. I'll get you at the border of the wards."

"Will we be in the Prophet the next day?"

"_Ouch_. She stings! I promise we _won't_ be."

She eyed her all-too-cheerful uncle warily. "Is it true there are mudbloods and creatures at your parties?"

"There are wizards and witches. They come as they are or in disguise. I don't ask. Stripped of expectations, people end up being rather similar." He smiled, his mustache twitching. "And it's _great fun_."

"How drugged are you that you can't tell them apart?"

Alphard huffed. "Don't listen to what your father says about me. Everything's always under control."

Bellatrix nodded, rather unconvinced. Perhaps Uncle Alphard was a bit of a buffoon, but it had been a while since she'd had an adventure. She was half-ready to try her luck in the Forbidden Forest despite having promised Meda and Cissy to not go.

* * *

Uncle Alphard wasn't alone; there was some kid- __Cousin Siriu___s!_ The nine year old was staring wide-eyed at Hogwarts.

"Hi, Cous'," the kid chirped. "Uncle Al said we're celebrating my birthday today as he wasn't invited on the real day. Father thinks I'm at Nott's."

"Walburga's upset at Orion," Alphard added smugly. "I'm exploiting marital strife."

Bellatrix snorted. Like __that__ wouldn't backfire. Still, she smiled in approval. A life lived in fear was no life.

Alphard apparated them to a sparse forest. More like a tree-filled hill. It was too green, too _alive_, for an English winter. Out of place yellow flowers sprouted from what looked like a young oak. __Huh__. Another tree, an older pine, had light blue sap and smelled so strongly Bellatrix felt like she had her nose in it despite being yards away.

This was owned land. Cared for. Magical. Sudden bleating pierced through the chatter of birds.

"Ah, there she is. Run get her, Sirius!"

Bellatrix hurried after her sprinting cousin. Around her more altered trees and bushes filled the hill with out-of-season color. Her eyebrows shot up as she spotted the source of the bleating.

An enchanted camel the size of a small pony stood before them. Alphard grinned and picked up Sirius to put him between the animal's two humps. "Come on, you're the prince today. We have to go in that direction."

"You're my favorite, Uncle Al," Sirius declared, grinning as the camel began to trot.

Bellatrix huffed. Seeing her cousin spoiled wasn't quite been her idea of fun.

Alphard rolled his eyes at her. "You do realize it's no competition? I want time with you _both_. If one of your sisters died, you'd not love the other more."

__What? Why was he talking of Cissy and Meda dying? __"You stay away from my sisters."

The man rolled his eyes _again_. "Merlin's bubbly farts, your parents ruined you. Come on, let's unruin some of it. These are Mirabel's lands. She's a dear friend, and she breeds hippogriffs. Don't spook them, be more polite than you've ever been with your mothers, and you'll have the ride of your life."

__Hippogriffs!__ Bellatrix failed to keep her enthusiasm from showing. "Mirabel who? Do I know her kids?"

"I'm not giving you her last name," Alphard said with a grin. "You treat like she's someone, because she is."

__Morgana___. ___Fine___._

"Don't break your neck!" she shouted after Sirius, who pranced around on his camel. He stuck his tongue out at her. She let an evil smile creep up her lips. "Although, might be funny..."

"Why do you say that? You don't like me?" Sirius' sudden narrow-eyed outrage, the way he straightened and squared his shoulders in solid imitation of Uncle Orion, had Bellatrix snort.

She magicked herself close to him and ruffled his head like she'd seen Rabastan do to Rodolphus when they'd been kids. "I like you fine, Cousin. You realize trouble's going to follow this, don't you?"

He shrugged. "I'm always in trouble anyway." He rubbed his mouth absently, as if remembering he'd gotten it vanished after blabbing on to Crouch about some dead muggle.

Bellatrix grinned, seized by a pang of sympathy. Sirius had already been running after them to join their play as a toddler, and unlike docile baby Reggie, he had never backed away from anything. Walburga shouting at him to keep still and quiet had always struck Bellatrix as painfully familiar. So was the fact Sirius seemed unable to not talk back.

"Me too," she admitted. "Seems all worthy Blacks are."

Sirius beamed at her. He then stuck his chin up and kicked his tiny camel to go faster. "Worth it!" he shouted for all the hillside to hear.

"I'm jealous, where's __my__ enchanted freak-camel?"

"You're going to get a full-sized hippogriff, Pumpkin. Don't be ungrateful."

They reached a house, a long one-story brick building splashed with a dozen colors. Monstrous flowers, with petals the size of Bellatrix's head, grew all around it, almost smothering it.

"Alphie!" A tall freckled woman with long blonde braids boomed. She had come out from behind an arch of what looked like the monstrous bastard child of mistletoe and wild roses. "And look at those handsome children!" She wore muggle clothes, and dirt covered boots.

No wonder Alphard had hidden her last name. "Why don't you just charm your clothes so you can work in robes instead of those muggle things?"

"Hello to you too, young lady. I do plant breeding, and not the muggle kind. Any source of magic could alter the strains. I don't want to have to worry my mud-repelling charms are affecting my seeds. You here for the 'griffs?"

Bellatrix nodded, a little abashed. "Yes, Ma'am. Thanks for having us." This __was__ neat magic and she didn't want to miss out on hippogriffs. She wasn't even sure _why_ she'd felt the need to be rude in the first place.

A hippogriff couple was in the nearby field, next to a lazy stream. The stream itself began abruptly, in the middle of the fields, and ended in a small lake. Suddenly, something moved a yard above the streams surface. The smaller hippogriff darted forward, seizing the fish-come-out-of-nowhere in its beak. It threw its head back, its long neck bobbing as it swallowed its prey.

"I have my stream linked to a special spot in the River Frome," Mirabel said proudly. "Trouts come aplenty, and you should see the size of some of those salmons."

"Look at those claws and talons," Alphard teased. "You look shaky, Pumpkin. Are you certain you're calm enough to risk it?"

"Or what, you've got a special potions for jitters?" Mirabel said. "Don't take anything that man gives you until you've sat your NEWTS, you hear me?"

"Hey, I don't mess with kids."

"So you say, Alphie. Moderation," the woman mock-whispered at Bellatrix. "That's the secret. And you look just fine, dear. Just no eye contact. You'll be riding Byron here. He's the little brother. A proud beauty of course, but delightfully eager to please."

Byron was not like the drawings and descriptions Bellatrix had seen in books. For one, it was obvious from up close that he had camel blood instead of the blood of a mare. His wing-feathers shimmered with dozens of yellow hues, and two humps, one covered in soft white feathers and the other in coarse camel hair, stuck out from his back. He was also six foot tall at the shoulder.

"If you're too scared, I can go first," Sirius said, eyes wide and eager.

_Ha. _"Pull that one on Cissy, Cousin. It's not going to work on _me_."

She bowed to Byron under Mirabel's instructions, and was thrilled to see the huge beast bow back.

A saddle and reins suddenly materialized on the creature, with a ladder of ropes tumbling down to allow Bellatrix up. The witch held her breath and climbed.

She was stunned by how soft the body-feathers were. A sudden lurch forced her forward and she hastily grabbed the reins. It was nothing like a broom. Wide, soft, warm, and it moved underneath her, hard muscles shifting with every beat of its huge wings. Wind howled against her and in seconds the others were specks of dust hundreds of yards beneath her. Byron screeched and screeched more enthusiastically when Bellatrix cheerfully screamed.

And she'd thought __horses__ were the best of pets. How silly of her. __This__ what what she needed once she had her own house. She was starting to see the appeal of foregoing a manor (not to mention she'd have to kill a relative or two to get her own before she was forty, assuming Meda got married) and just picking a nice spot with big grounds. Bellatrix would spent her days outside and only go back in the house to sleep in a place like this.

Breathless, she landed with a grin on her face, sad it was over. "No no, stay put," Mirabel said. She made loops with her wand and a second, smaller saddle appeared on the hump in front of Bellatrix. Sirius giggled like a kid half his age as Mirabel's next spell had him float upwards, until he could sit.

"Tight hug," Mirabel warned, "don't let the handsome little man fall." She rubbed Byron's beak affectionately. "Fly off, beautiful, make the kids want to be you."

Sirius deafened her with his delighted screams. Bellatrix found herself laughing too, one arm holding the reins and the other wrapped around her howling little cousin.

Twenty-seven years later, colors and laughter sucked from their minds, neither would remember flying together on Byron the camelgriff.

* * *

Bellatrix had expected detention when she breathlessly sneaked back into Hogwarts, barely in time for dinner. She'd not expected Slughorn to sigh and say "Miss Black, you confound me. Punishment doesn't seem to teach you anything, so I'm going to adopt a new strategy. You will come to the Slug Club on Friday evening. It'll be an intimate affair, full of interesting people. I think perhaps you just need to have a future to look forward to."

"Al-right, Professor. I must ask, why weren't my sisters and I ever invited before?"

Slughorn winced. He looked pained. Perhaps it was embarrassment. Probably it was because Bellatrix was too blunt for a pureblood witch of her breeding.

"I invite people for many reasons. As you have loudly shown that you do not value types of power other than magical ability, and even that only among people of pure blood, I feared, and to be honest, I __still__ fear, that inviting you will make the evening a little too animated."

"But why not Meda or Cissy?" She pursed her lips. "Well, perhaps Meda would not be interested, but Cissy knows how to speak to anybody. She understands people, reputation and all that."

Slughorn blinked. "High praise. Perhaps I have overlooked young Miss Black. She's rather closed off. I imagine not around you then?" He nodded thoughtfully. "I will talk to her. Nevertheless, at her age, it would be on Thursdays. I'm inviting you with the OWL and NEWTS students. Don't make me regret it. I don't doubt that you'll fit in quite well if you set your mind to it."

It had to be the first time a teacher expressed such a sentiment to her. Oh, Aunt Cassy had told her she could magically do better a thousand times, but _this_ -. Bellatrix swallowed, lost in thoughts as she walked back to the common room. Slug Club was old and new money, children of high-rising politicians and famous stars, and even some half-bloods Slughorn had taken a liking to. Older Slytherin fought for invites, ingratiating themselves with Slughorn or whoever had the power to bring a date. Even entry to the low-years Slug Club, which was an excuse to wear nice clothes, dance to music and chat feeling important, was a social battlefield. Bellatrix had not cared: she'd had better things to do than simper and play nice around people who felt the need to tell her they were better than her.

Another thought struck her, bringing her to a stand still. Selwyn would be there.

Bellatrix balled her fists. She would not let _him_ keep her out of anything. Friday at the Slug Club it would be.

* * *

Thursday morning, at breakfast, Bellatrix stared, excitement and apprehension churning her stomach. Aunt Cassiopeia's long-eared owl swooped down to the Slytherin table with a thick letter. _Finally!_ She hadn't heard from the witch in six whole weeks.

_'I have been informed that while I've always had to accommodate my own schedule around your precious education, you find the time to frolic with Alphard of all people.'_

Bellatrix's face fell. She should have bound Sirius to secrecy. Then he couldn't have blabbed, no matter the pressure.

_'I thought better of you. Since you feel consorting with beast-obsessed half-bloods is more important that writing me,-'_

That wasn't fair. She'd written Aunt Cassy __three__ unanswered letters, and last time, when Bellatrix had kept writing despite the silence, she'd been accused of being _unbecomingly _needy__. How could Bellatrix have known -

_'I'm sure you'll be able to learn from her during Yuletide. I'll visit people who actually value me.'_

Bellatrix stormed out of the Great Hall, eyes shimmering with furious tears. Of course, she __couldn't__ win. She had figured out by now that Cassiopeia enjoyed making her life difficult. That the witch would have otherwise just found yet another way to force Bellatrix to write an apology letter where she all but groveled to be allowed to resume her training. But it still _hurt_. Because Aunt Cassy's proud smile, the laughter they shared during their lessons, the letters Cassiopeia had written when Bellatrix had complained in first year about Malachi Bulstrode and Sofia D'Ambra, in which the witch had given her enough blackmail material to shut them up... It had to mean _something_, didn't it?

_And who else could she learn from? Selwyn –_ Bellatrix snarled as she refused to let her thoughts go there. Helplessness sucked the air out of her lungs, leaving her chest hollow as she struggled to breathe without breaking into sobs.

A hand touched her upper arm. A boy's hand.

She had Rodolphus at wand-point before a sound could exit his mouth.

__Merlin's balls___. ___Rod!__ He was staring wide-eyed at her wand. "Sorry," he mouthed.

Bellatrix lowered her wand with a glower, figuring she could still whip out an obliviate if she needed to. Rod's wand was sheathed.

"I cast a far-reading spell when you set that letter down because I'm nosy like that." _What? _"Family's supposed to make your life easier."

She almost hexed him right there. "You mind your own-"

"Your sisters do that. Like 'Stan and I. You're a good team. I'm just saying, you've got decent grades, you're powerful, you don't let people walk all over you, you don't hang out with mudbloods, and you don't talk your family down. They shouldn't be giving you grief."

'_beast-obsessed half-bloods'_ Alphard must have thought he was so _funny_ bringing her and Sirius to Mirabel's.

Of course, the most shocking part of the letter had yet to come. _'Lord Black has decided Alphard is too big a stain on our illustrious name. That disgraceful man cannot be allowed to influence you or Sirius. He has been struck off the family tapestry and I suggest you do not ever associate with him again unless you wish to be disowned.'_

"Uncle Alphard got blasted off the family tapestry. He's too old to be disowned, but as far as we're concerned he's not family anymore..."

Rod raised twin eyebrows. "Seriously? How many people are left on that tapestry then? More than ten?"

Bellatrix couldn't help it, she laughed. "You're okay," she decided. "It's a shame you're such a poor dueler. You should come run with me in the morning. You'll get better at magic if your body's strong." Well, in truth Rod still had a way to come before lack of muscles became the thing hindering him.

Rod's face clouded over. Then he nodded slowly. "I probably should, shouldn't I? Maybe then I'll last forty-five seconds instead of twenty when we duel."

"You never gave up, even if you lose all the time. Why?" Bellatrix had pretty much asked him to duel only when she wanted to quickly punch someone down, knowing Rod didn't mind as long as she didn't gloat or make it too painful.

"Well, I've been lasting twenty seconds for the last three years and you've improved, so I guess I've been improving too." He grimaced."I guess I need that shove. To get off my ass."

Bellatrix eyed him critically. He wasn't __unkempt__, but he was soft and forgettable. "What did you sort Slytherin for, if you have no ambition?"

"Oh I do." he said, sounding a little offended now, "I want to get in the Ministry. I have plans. I just convinced myself I didn't need more than respectable NEWTS scores and good connections for it."

"You believe in _politics_. You figure magic's not needed." Like Selwyn._ Dueling is like Quidditch for angry people._

"I figure maybe I'm __wrong__. Stan's been telling me stuff's been happening. People speaking up privately against the state of things. Not in a grumbling way. In a maybe-change-things-by-the-power-of-our-wands way." He smiled, it was more warm than pained. "So I guess I'll keep losing duels?"

Bellatrix had to smile back. "You bet you will." She narrowed her eyes. "Does Rabastan have any interesting contacts that could come to the Slug Club?"

Rod's thoughtful frown soon became a nod. "On one condition : I'm coming with you tomorrow."

Bellatrix frowned. She wasn't sure she was allowed to bring dates like a regular member. But she shouldn't get in too much trouble for risking it. "Fine. Long as you don't try to kiss me."

The flabbergasted look on Rod's face reassured her it hadn't been his plan at all.

"Don't worry, I promise." His lips twitched. "I'll wait until I can last at least three minutes."

Bellatrix punched his shoulder. Rod laughed. That annoying, too-loud laugh.

_'Family's supposed to make your life easier.'_

It was a little easier to breathe. She'd still write Aunt Cassy her apology, because that's how the game had to be played. She'd learn as much as she could from the witch, and when she would be stronger, Cassiopeia would realize that Bellatrix had a long memory.

Or perhaps Bellatrix would show up at Mirabel's during the holidays and ask to ride the camelgriffs again. Then she'd send Aunt Cassy a picture.

It'd be a declaration of war, but honestly, Bellatrix was sorely tempted.

* * *

Unfortunately, Rabastan's contacts could not come to Hogwarts until after Yule. So the first Slug Club meeting had Bellatrix making an effort to keep a low profile, ignore Selwyn, memorize who was there, eat (at least there was good stuff), and complain to Rod when it got too much. She left at half past nine, but it must not have looked __too__ bad, because Slughorn said she and Rod were welcome to come again.

On Bellatrix's second Slug Club meeting, the last before the holidays, she noticed Abbott from Gryffindor staring at her. The sixth year had openly downed two shots of firewhisky, so he had to be seventeen. Now that she'd caught him looking, __that__ kind of looks, she couldn't concentrate on anything else.

It was so stupid. She had to do something about it.

Tristan Abbott never figured out why Bellatrix Black seemingly came on to him and then hexed the skin off his legs the moment he (gently!) brushed her lower back, figuring he had all the signals that suggested it was safe to try. He had been almost sober. Okay, maybe not. But he'd been no way near drunk enough to get it __that__ wrong. Maybe his mother was right and he should put off getting romantically involved with girls until after his NEWTS... Then again, Mum probably wouldn't want him dating Bellatrix Black even at thirty. Okay, Tristan __had__ been drunk. He could already see Dad's knowing grin 'you let hot make you stupid, didn't you?' Hexed _the skin off his legs_. Maybe Black was just insane. Tristan told Madam Pomfrey it had been a spell accident because it just wasn't worth it.

The next day, Andromeda cornered Bellatrix in the dungeons, and dragged her by the arm somewhere they would be alone. "You have to __stop__. You'll get expelled."

__Hm. Who had gone tattling to her sister?__

"I won't. He's the son of a half-blood. Anyway he got fixed up."

"__Bellatrix__. This won't make you feel any better."

"But it __did__! He touched me. I hexed him straight away. Proof I'm better now."

"Okay, you got your proof. Don't make more people pay because Selwyn was a pig. It was two months ago! He knows to leave you alone now and I've not heard of him bothering anyone else. It's over."

"I said I feel __better__. I promise I won't hex other boys unless they __really__ ask for it."

"Bella, don't shoot yourself in the foot to-"

Bellatrix frowned at her. "Sis, you're speaking muggle."

Meda winced. "Sorry. Just : don't forget to do what's best for _you_. Don't let people like Selwyn manipulate you into making your own life difficult in the name of revenge."

Fury blocked Bellatrix's throat. Selwyn wasn't __manipulating__ her. This wasn't about him. This was about __her! __About making sure she could take care of herself. She -

"Hey, you're safe here," Meda said gently. "You got taken by surprise and it won't happen again. Stop beating yourself up."

"No," Bellatrix ground out, arms tightly crossed across her chest. "You're wrong. I'm never safe. I need to _make_ myself safe."

"Bella -"

"You __escape__. You pretend your life is those dumb muggle books; that reality doesn't affect you! I live in the __real__ world."

Andromeda's eyes flashed. She crossed her own arms, looking hurt. __Good___._

"It doesn't have to be this way! Most kids __do__ feel safe. Real life isn't full of Cassiopeias, Orions and Cygnuses. Or even Gareth Selwyns. We can't let them rule us."

"Well, we're stuck being Blacks. So I'm going to rule __them__."

"You're letting your anger rule __you__."

Bellatrix stormed away, back in the maze of dungeons corridors. It was that or hexing Meda, which would just prove her sister's point. She'd find some obnoxious portrait to shout at.

_Only, how did you do it? How did you get respect, how did you get true power? _Andromeda chose to ignore people, Cissy didn't mind being underestimated, but Bellatrix didn't want to look in from the side of the room. She wanted to be in the middle of it, and she wanted people to look up to _her_.

* * *

****Author's Note :****

****It's kind of painful to write Bellatrix******,** because I have to make her make wrong choices and learn the wrong lessons from events, while I keep throwing hurdles at her. On the other hand, writing abusive childhoods as something that is *always* overcome, as opposed to something that can really wreck you, is IMO unhelpful and dismissive. I'm not saying that Bellatrix has no responsibility. The harm she does is real no matter the reasons she may have. I just think that 'free will' is a messier concept than it sounds, because you can't choose unless you realize you have a choice. Unlike her sisters, Bellatrix fails to see the flaws in her upbringing: she rolls with the punches and doesn't challenge the value system she was raised in (partly because she's not much of an abstract thinker). Selwyn's groping hit her so hard because it echoed her childhood (as in the powerlessness she's felt all her life).

As I see her, Bellatrix is so obsessed with magical power because one of the very few things she's confident about is her own magic levels (the other being her sisters' loyalty), and so she latches onto that to convince herself that if she gets powerful enough, she'll be free to live her life and keep people from hurting her. Also, because of her attitude (on top of her blood purist mindset), nice students stay away from her, and she ends up feeling like everyone except her sisters and cousins are jerks (with the exception of some childhood acquaintances, like Rodolphus, precisely because they got to know each other early enough).

This chapter is a turning point, where we can still glimpse what could have been, had Bellatrix been surrounded by positive, loving figures (don't mistake me, Alphard is a drug-dealing party addict, because that's *his* way to cope. But compared to Cassiopeia and crowd, he's the cool uncle). As we all know, thought, it's just going to get worse.

**I'd love to know what stood out for each of you.**

One last sidenote : as the wizarding population in the Isles is small and pureblood society even smaller, the same last names are cropping up over and over again. That doesn't mean that a character with the last name of a canon death eater is necessarily _that_ particular death eater.


	12. B: Lord Voldemort

**Thanks Paul for taking the time to review. It's what motivates me to keep the chapters coming.**

* * *

**1970, April - Bellatrix's 5****th**** year**

Pleasant harp notes floated in the corridors of the Westham Black Manor. Narcissa was the only one of them who still practiced music. It was a useful way of keeping Mother occupied and in a good mood.

Bean popped by the now seldom used telescope in Bellatrix's bedroom and handed her a small rolled up parchment.

"Oh, what now?" Bellatrix huffed, rolling off the bed where she'd been taken a nap. She'd spent the afternoon flying over the manor looking for ward-molds, those magic resistant growths that plagued heavily warded buildings (she wanted to gather some after Slughorn had said the molds could be treated to actually _store_ magic). "And I need theses robes over there fixed, Bean."

_'I'm busy tonight, my dear. I have made time on the 7th. See you at six. Your Aunt Cassy.'_

Bellatrix's chest twisted. _Of course_. Cassiopeia _always_ came first. How that impossible woman had known that Bellatrix would go the Lestranges'... _No. Enough!_ She wasn't going to give up _this_. She'd already had to bow out of the first meeting Rabastan had invited her to. Aunt Cassy must have sniffed competition. She must have realized that her niece was finally meeting interesting adults that weren't _her_.

"She was going to teach me to fly," Bellatrix whispered, hating the frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. She stormed to Meda's room and shoved the letter at her. Cissy would tell her how to appease Aunt Cassy and other clever manipulative tricks. But right now, Bella just wanted to be told she wasn't the one doing anything wrong.

"That bitch," Andromeda said, setting aside her homework. _Thanks, Sis._ "Well, she's decided to be difficult, so you might as well give her a reason to be."

Bellatrix had needed to hear that. But it couldn't quite erase the disappointment twisting her insides. Because the _last_ surprise -

At Yule, Aunt Cassy had taken Bellatrix to haunted Scottish moor where half-mad ghosts of battles past treated the living like invaders. Together, they had cast an exorcism. Even in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, you found no books telling you _how_ to go about an exorcism. The witches' magics had linked and hummed as they had forced time to take back its rights, and dissolve the magic tethering the silvery imprints to our world. The enraged ghosts had become kittens the minute one of theirs vanished. They began telling boastful account of their deaths, gruesome delightful tales. Ther and Aunt Cassy had gasped had laughed until tears had run down her faces. Suddenly, Cassiopeia had gone off at something Bellatrix had said, she couldn't even remember what. '_Why must you always ruin things? You are no child anymore, my dear. Why do such simple things seem beyond you?'_ Cassiopeia had dissaparated, disappointment etched on her features. At Bellatrix's exasperated request, Bean had popped by, carrying one of Cissy's portkeys to home.

'_Why must you always ruin things?' _Ever since Yule, it had been snippy letters. Bellatrix had hoped that if she - She ground her teeth, a frustrated scream building in her chest. "That bitch," she repeated. "No, I'm _not_ changing my plans."

She'd ask Rod if he knew someone who could fly.

* * *

The eight witches and wizards were gathered in the one-room outbuilding of one of the minor Lestrange manors.

The manor itself, if 'manor' it could be called, was a crooked collection of mismatched towers in various states of disrepair that spiraled outwards like a basket of fireworks. A dozen towers' worth of ruins sprawled around the handful of standing buildings. Rod had told her that it was family tradition to curse buildings when there was no direct-line succession, forcing the inheriting relative to either brave the hostile enchantments or draw on the existing magic to rebuild.

Bellatrix now knew exactly where to go looking for boggarts.

The more recent 'tower' was a translucent oddity, shaped like an inverted exclamation mark. A rotating glass sphere the size of the Hogwarts Great Hall blinded anyone who walked the Manor's ground on a sunny day. Bellatrix had to somewhat admire the amount of magic invested in that ostentatious aberration (a dozen five-person rituals _at least_). Of course, without solid masonry to tether it, the magic wouldn't outlast its casters' passing. Ladon Lestrange, his cousin Freya, Freya's elderly father, Freya's only daughte,r and the daughter's own two children claimed that house. Them and spouses. So _nine_. Bellatrix was always struck at how gregarious most of the other great families were. Rod couldn't wrap his head around the fact that the Black Manors rarely housed more than two generation (but why would anyone _want_ to live with _more_ of their relatives?).

The outhouse at the edge of the ruins was more grounded, as in, the actual floor was connected to the ground. It looked like somebody had taken a massive chunk of ice and cast a few hundred blasting curses until there was a hole the size of a large room inside it. There were no windows, only silver double-doors high enough to let a giant through. The white walls sparkled with yellows and blues, reflecting the chandeliers' magical lights.

"I suppose you Ravenclaws were all for it," Rod accused, seated on the crystal banquet table next to the birch wine, his legs swinging. A slow-cooking roast dripped fat in the ice-and-marble enchanted fireplace next to him.

At 16, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Lucius Malfoy were the youngest of the group. Rabastan's neatly trimmed beard singled him out as the only person out of their teens. Two other Slytherins : Thorfinn Rowle and that half-blood Elric Jugson, and Ravenclaws Augustus Rookwood and Ardra Travers, had also interrupted their Spring holidays to finally meet that mysterious revolutionary wizard Rabastan had been whispering about for months.

Bellatrix slid one of the salmon-pumpkin bites into her mouth and hummed appreciatively as the others heatedly debated the new Diggory law, an initiative to have all books published through a single Ministry-affiliated publisher to _'guarantee quality and avoid the poorly researched or slanderous statements seen all too often in independent text'_.

"On _principle_, I'd agree," Ardra said,"but when you consider the textbooks the Ministry has been selecting the '20s, it's obvious that objective quality isn't their priority. In my second year, Xenophilius Lovegood wrote an article showing how all the authors of our textbooks were connected, by blood or money, to members of the board of governors. He got an owl _banning his school paper_ and telling him he'd not be allowed to sit his NEWTs if he kept it up."

Hoping that exposing _facts_ might change the world. _How very Ravenclaw. _Bellatrix bit into another of those nice little cheese buns and chewed slowly, savoring the spicy aftertaste. It seemed everybody hated the law already, which was no fun. She liked it when debates got heated : then a well timed barb could get people to start hexing each other.

"It's an excuse to go sniffing in the mansions," Rod said, his elbows digging into his thighs as he glared at the ground. He was funnily passionate about politics. "That's the real law. Getting their hands on the knowledge the old families have stored away. Getting an even greater say in what were allowed to know."

"I don't understand why Slughorn voted that one," his elder brother mused. "At least it exposed the Fawleys as corrupt hypocrites."

"Lady Slughorn will store her own tomes abroad if it comes to that," Malfoy said. "Most of her family's money comes from international trade. Slughorn, the Prewetts, and Cosmo's Greengrasses are gathering favors to place more of their people in the ICW. They require Diggory's support."

You'd never catch _Lucius Malfoy_ sitting on a table and risk creasing his impeccable dress robes. He always had that tilt to his chin, as if he was already Lord. He kept his voice just soft enough to force you to give him your undivided attention. Bellatrix itched to hex his arrogant mug. Malfoy was admittedly powerful, but like so many others he valued appearances and comfort above all else. That baby had refused to duel her ever since she'd gotten a little carried away in third year.

Predictably, silly Rod and the others drank Malfoy's words. They couldn't get enough of Malfoy's knowledge of Ministry affairs. Malfoy, of course, was always all too eager to show off.

"Can you imagine if, instead of worrying about their agendas, their on-going feuds, and the inextricable web of favors owed, wizards and witches voted for the laws that actually benefited them?" Augustus Rookwood said with a cynical smile, from the chair next to Bellatrix's. "Those squawking about skittish light-wizards and blood-traitors taking over the Wizengamot seem unable to comprehend that only unity will save them."

"How very Hufflepuff," Thorfinn Rowle mocked. Rowle _knew_ he acted twelve. He didn't care. He'd doubtless been dragged here by Jugson, who hoped people would somehow forget he was half-blood if he associated enough with Rowle.

"People disparage Hufflepuff out of fear," Rookwood argued. The Ravenclaw was in the habit of raising a finger whenever his thoughts were snared by a digression he deemed interesting. Bellatrix stifled her snort (and felt very grown up for succeeding to). "A united hardworking crowd is unbeatable. Hufflepuffs _must_ remain convinced that power is boring, contemptible, or too _complex_ for them, lest they begin to have greater ambitions than living happy, simple lives."

"I told you they were full of fire and ideas, my Lord."

Bellatrix hastily swallowed the stuffed pepper she'd been chewing. Two men, Ladon Lestrange and a stranger, _the_ stranger they'd come to meet, now stood between them and large silver-doors. Rod had flushed, looking as surprised as any of them. Rabastan on the other hand...

_Clever. Spying on them like this._

Ladon Lestrange was lithe effeminate man, sporting dark green robes and the same shoulder-length wavy brown hair as his nephew Rabastan. Bellatrix peered at him curiously. Aunt Cassy always had lots of bad things to say about Ladon, and also mother's youngest uncle, Brannon Rosier, who had all but living with Ladon for the last twenty years. Aunt Cassy rarely spared many words for uninteresting people. Besides, Rod had admitted that his uncle was the only Lestrange younger than a hundred who had any political vision.

They'd been bonding over that lately : disappointing parents (it had been rather odd too, how shocked Rod would look when she'd grumble about her punishments. Turns out, he and his parents shouted at each other _without_ casting any curses).

"Uncle," Rabastan greeted, suddenly all solemn. He bowed his head to the other man. "Lord Voldemort. I'm honored you accepted to meet us all."

Lord _Voldemort_. The name had been withheld from them until now and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. She knew of no Voldemort family, let alone any noble one. _Could it be French?_ The man before her was in his forties, tall and pale, his face clean-shaven and his dark-hair short. Not the latest fashion, but not particularly _French_ either. Strikingly handsome. And yet something was off.

She closed her eyes, and found herself unable to recall his image. Only her thoughts of him 'handsome, not French', as if someone else had described him to her. Some kind of charm stopped her mind from retaining his features. _Fascinating_.

"You've gather quite a crowd, Ladon. Please, keep talking." There was something about his voice and bearing. Something that made Bellatrix sit up straighter and want him to notice her. To be _impressed_ by her. "I'm eager to know, how the upcoming generation expects to fit in the world crafted by their parents."

_Cassiopeia_. That's who he reminded her of. Except Bellatrix wasn't ten anymore. She made sure not to look overeager. For all she knew, this man's charisma was an empty shell. And, more importantly, that was a very _English_ accent.

"Where's the Voldemort family from? I can't place it." _Thank you, Rowle._

Voldemort smiled as if he had expected the question. He stood relaxed, his gaze almost benevolent. Bellatrix slipped her right hand inside her robes, her fingers curling around her wand. It was bad manners, but she could not trust her perception around a man who affected the minds of those who laid eyes on him.

His dark brown eyes flickered to her before turning back to Rowle.

"I've created my own name. One that will be known for feats done this generation and not centuries past. A new family to be joined by the worthy."

"We have a lot of new families, what with all the mudbloods."

Bellatrix stifled a grin. After near a year of Slug Club, she'd learned to shut up. Having Rowle around was brilliant : the questions got asked but it wasn't _you_ who paid the consequences for being a mouthy idiot.

"Ah, you fear you may be too superior to me to listen to what I have to say. A reasonable suspicion, Mr. Rowle." The unoccupied chairs silently flew to the side of the room, leaving an empty space and eight teenagers displaying various levels of alarm: Voldemort's hands were empty. "Take your wand."

A duel? _Now_ Bellatrix was interested. Voldemort's wand flew to his outstretched hand from a fold of his robes. _More wandless magic._

Jugson whispered something in Rowle's ear. The blonde's frown was replaced by a considering look as he squared his shoulders and stood up. Rowle was built like a wardrobe, but for all he weighted twice as much as Voldemort and could throw a guy five feet (Slytherin-Gryffindor of January 67 had been one memorable Quidditch game), Voldemort wasn't the one clutching his wand like a nervous child.

Voldemort looked both indulgent and amused as he finally took out his own wand. "Fear not. I'm a guest. It'd be unforgivably rude of me to commit a crime." Behind Voldemort, Ladon Lestrange stood cross armed, looking highly amused. "Show me the greatness of your ancient and noble family, Rowle."

Rowle cleared his throat loudly and bowed, too formally to not be mocking. Voldemort returned the bow, his eyes promising vengeance. Rowle was the first to cast. The wandless orange curse vanished two yards before Voldemort. While the older wizard was busy waving his wand to another incantation.

_How- Actual wandless _shielding_? Protective enchantments on his robes?_

Voldemort's wand finished its motion. A golden-brown shape materialized around Rowle's chest and arms, accompanied by strange hisses from Voldemort. _A snake!_ Rowle gasped, immobilized, brought to his knees as the fat conjured python _squeezed_. His wand flew into Voldemort's outstretched hand. The older man was still hissing.

A _parselmouth_! Well _that_ narrowed things down!

Parseltongue was a fussy gift, rarely transmitted unless both parents had it. The last known non-Gaunt parselmouth had been murdered, along with his family, by Electra Gaunt in the '30s. That crazy had died in Azkaban, just like the last Gaunt heir, Morfin, in the '50s. Uncle Orion had (unsuccessfully) tried to claim the never used Gaunt seat at the Wizengamot for the Black line, as the Blacks had been among the very last to welcome a Gaunt before the Gaunts had begun exclusively sticking to first cousins. Rumor was all the remaining Gaunts were squibs. If Bellatrix were Salazar Slytherin, she'd make a point of haunting that pathetic lot into an early grave.

_Could this man be a Gaunt ? _He seemed entirely too pretty for that. _Perhaps one of the low-profile parselmouths? Or some indian ancestry?_ Parseltongue was more commonplace there.

Rowle, still on his knees before Voldemort, unexpectedly began chuckling between gasps.

"Fine," Rowle allowed as the four-foot python loosened its hold just enough to let him breathe, "I deserved that, Lord Voldemort. You lot back there can thank me for asking the questions you're too cowardly to ask." He shot a grin at Jugson who smiled back.

"Thank you, Rowle," Bellatrix said sweetly, walking up to him.

She was too curious to pass up the opportunity to observe the thick python draped over the seventh year's broad shoulders. She knew how tricky conjurations were. _Incarcerous_ remained a favorite of hers. The size of that python, the patterns and perfect scales, dry and warm under her fingers... Bellatrix conjured a blunt needle and poked at where the cloacal vent should be. Her eyes widened as two hemipenes popped out.

Conjured snakes were usually pale imitations that did not hold up to close scrutiny. They rarely had a lifespan longer than an hour. This one looked _real_.

"He's beautiful, my Lord. May I keep him?" Perhaps it had been a trick, perhaps Lestrange kept snakes on the grounds and this was only a well disguised summons. Yet the lack of imperfections: not one scale damaged or peeling, not a speck of dirt, screamed _conjuration_.

Voldemort's sudden stare pierced into her. By instinct, she focused on the feel of her clothes against her skin, on the sizzle of meat fat in the fireplace, on the air filling her lungs, and of course, on his features, those features her mind couldn't quite grasp. She could feel her perception slip away, tugged by a force that didn't want her rooted in the present. _Legilimency_.

Irritation bubbled in Bellatrix's chest. _How soft did that man think she was to think he could steal from her mind undetected? Did he think she was the kind to lower her defenses around a stranger who spied on teenagers and conjured perfect snakes?_

A soft laugh escaped his lips. His dark eyes were more predatory than warm. "Keep the snake, Miss Black. You should name him."

Bellatrix's smile had an edge. "Come on, Morty," she cooed at the python, deciding the man deserved the dig for trying to slip into her mind. She slid her arms under the beast and took it off a grateful-looking sweaty Rowle. The snake lifted its head and twisted its neck towards the fireplace, as if eager to drag her there. Bellatrix almost dropped it in shock.

If the python ended up having a _personality_, she wasn't sure what she'd do. You just couldn't conjure proper _life_, or every kid would have a kneazle and people would have been conjuring babies for centuries. Or house elves.

"You have opinions, ambitions... Tell me, when do you expect you'll have the actual ability to _do_ anything? When will you be finally _someone_?"

A sense of gloom fell over the assembly. Bellatrix suddenly wished Morty was venomous. She could really use a venomous snake.

"Decades." Voldemort answered for them. "A Lordship before fifty is rare. Orion Black's father must have feared assassination to pass his own mantle so soon."

Bellatrix nodded. She smiled at the alarmed look Travers shot her. Even Rod looked taken aback. She wasn't sure why. If by the time she was seventeen, let alone twenty, Mother and Father kept telling her how to live her life... The only trouble was getting away with things.

"And for those of you who aren't heirs... For centuries lordships were won by magic. Anyone in the family could challenge the Lord or Lady regnant. For three centuries now, houses have been transmitted almost exclusively to the eldest. Increasingly, the male line absorbs the female upon marriage instead of it being decided by magic. It seems to me that we as a society have grown afraid of power. We can't stomach the idea of a weak line dying out so we invent arbitrary rules."

As the second daughter of a minor son, Bellatrix had to admit that kind of talk didn't displease her.

"We have abolished vassalage, in the name of not casting some houses as inferior. That topic is why your father sent you here, is it not, Mr. Malfoy?"

Papa's boy nodded. "Father asks me to send his greetings. The Crabbe and Goyle houses have fallen upon hardship. We would've liked to renew the vassalage that bound our houses in the 16th and 17th centuries and see to their comfort in exchange for loyalty, but the current laws prohibit it. We are trying to see how much support we can gather for a more modern type of vassalage : binding to a Lord instead of a family, with freedom to renew or break the bond when a new Lord is named. We have been preparing the law for the last few months and mustering support."

_We_. Like he was already part of the Wizengamot. And it _worked_. Even I'll-soon-be-a-junior-Unspeakable-Rookwood sat straighter and acted more deferential when Malfoy spoke.

"You look like you have a lot to say about vassalage yourself, Mr. Jugson." Oh yes, someone was almost shaking in his chair.

"Nobody who's never lived beyond Knockturn should have the right to vote on vassalage," Jugson all but growled. It was no secret the halfblood had grown up in one of those shoddy barely-magical houses that crowded wizarding London. "Muggles destroy their abandoned houses nowadays, they keep track of _everything_. They've bred so much they're _everywhere_. Without muggle-repelling wards there's no way of escaping them. If we try to take a house that's owned by a muggle we get treated like criminals, even if we don't breach the Statute! Getting your house built by wizarding masons, getting it linked to the floo network, installing wards... It's _decades_ of wages. Before, the Lord took care of it. Or we just had muggles do the work and made sure they'd never come looking again, but now if you don't pay a professional obliviator to do it, it's illegal, and it's almost _impossible_ to get a permit. The Masons' Guild has made damn sure every house in the Isles would be built by _them_. All the Guild's nouveau riche are throwing their lot with the light wizards, pretending they give a damn about muggles, because they want to keep bleeding us dry."

Funny to hear Jugson, of the not-quite-noble and decidedly-not-ancient house of Jugson, say 'nouveau riche'. Bellatrix guessed he was one of the _nouveau not-even-riche_. _How sad._

Jugson, red faced, took a slow shuddering breath. "Why does slaving off working for the Ministry for half your life make you more _free _than vassalage?"

"But look at how many jobs the ministry has created so you could all slave away," Voldemort replied with a mirthless smile. "All these people working at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, at The Improper Use of Magic Office, at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures... I think we should just give up magic: it'd make life so much easier for everyone. And it's only fair that magical beasts and beings be relegated to cramped reserves for muggles' comfort."

Morty was lounging next to the fire, his eyes riveted on the slow-roasting meat. Bellatrix summoned a slab of piglet from the center of the roast, where the meat was still almost raw. She dangled it a few feet from the python.

"Is it true, that you've been spending times among creatures, my Lord?" Rod asked.

Bellatrix smiled in delight when Morty dived for the meat and gobbled it. _Fine_, Voldemort was perhaps worth listening to. She bowed her head as she turned back towards him. He eyes met hers, again, and she could swear he almost smiled.

"Absolutely, Mr. Lestrange. They are part of our world. They never were interested in citizenship before the 1800s, when they had freedom and territory. Now mages have decided to regulate them in the name of the Statute of Secrecy, and they realize that if they fail to become as humans, they'll be forced to let Ministry laws dictate their lives and doubtless face extinction."

"But what faction is prepared to act against muggles?"

"We don't have to kill them," Rookwood intervened. Not that anyone except Travers -who probably was just squeamish- and, oddly, Rowle, seemed to care. "We can expand magically the spaces we do have. Additionally, there were nuclear explosions in the '40s that made terrain the size of cities barren : no muggle dares venture there anymore." Bellatrix frowned. She wasn't up to date on this _nuclear_, but permanent muggle-repelling explosions sounded fascinating. They should have one near home. "We could stage such accidents to carve space out for our people. Of course, such complex magic would require cooperation between multiple families, and dark arts."

"There's no political will for it. Our ministry is absurd." Voldemort's eyes blazed, and he filled the room despite only taking a few steps. His voice rose, as if he was containing a singular outrage. "_Muggles_ need a ministry. Without magic, complex infrastructure and logistics is their only hope for civilization. We have magic. Cleanliness, food, transport, basic shelter... this we can all easily have. For greater magics, the Statute of Secrecy, for the efficient transmission of knowledge, _yes_, wizards must unite. But what have we done? How many seats are in the Wizengamot?"

Bellatrix caught herself leaning forward, hanging to Voldemort's words. She couldn't help it. He had... _presence_. But it'd take more than _speeches _to win her over.

"58," whispered Rod.

"Yes, one seat for each of the ancient and noble houses, and thirty granted to wizards or witches of vassal lines or even of unremarkable heritage, as reward, or simply as those in power thought to increase their number of allies." Voldemort chuckled. "_58_. It started with 50, just like the muggle House of Lord of the time. Except muggles are in the tens of _millions_. Give power to all, and nobody has power. We have become slaves to the Statute of Secrecy, and content to watch magic be stripped from us, generation after generation."

Jugson was the first to clap. Malfoy looked more circumspect, and of course he did, the _heir_ to the most prosperous house of Malfoy, but even he clapped. Bellatrix clapped too, but more because of Morty now toying with the flames, trying to figure out if he could risk stealing some meat without being burnt. Words could be smoke, but you couldn't fake _Morty_.

"There are eight of you here tonight." Voldemort's smile bode nothing good. "How many are picturing yourselves as the new Lords rather than vassals or advisers?"

The cheer died. Rowle, barely-competent wizard coasting on the status of the Ancient and Noble house of Rowle that he was, looked personally insulted.

"I'd personally be thrilled to be adviser to someone I admire," Rod said. "Advisers get things done. Better a valued adviser to a Lord with power than one Lord among fifty."

Voldemort turned to Ladon. "A wise nephew you have."

"He's my favorite," their host said cheerfully, propping himself on the table and slapping the wood with his hand to tell Rod to sit next to him. Rabastan pointedly huffed at the snub, his eyes smiling.

It was growing late, and for all their airs, they were a bunch of teenagers : soon everyone was eating heartily and talking about themselves. It was near ten PM when Voldemort took Bellatrix aside. She lazily leaned against the smooth ice wall by the now dying fireplace. He stood half-a-head taller than her and from up close his dark brown eyes glowed with a hint of red.

"The Lestrange brothers want a new British Empire. What do _you_ want, Miss Black?"

How terribly forward of him. A giggle escaped Bellatrix's lips. Ah well, perhaps Morty's creator deserved the truth. "To not be the most powerful person in the room."

Lord Voldemort blinked. "Why _wouldn't_ you want that? The most powerful person can do anything."

"I mean the most m_agically_ powerful. I'm tired of people treating any magic beyond their year level like a game." _'Quidditch for angry people.'_ And now she even caught herself missing that bastard Selwyn, because Rod was good sport, and learning fast, but he was not teaching her much except patience. "I'm tired of being told I'm powerful. The _Hogwarts_ _founders_ were powerful. I want to be in a room with people like _them_. I want to duel and _be defeated._ _Then_ I'll grow truly powerful."

He was standing close. A little too close for it to be proper. Bellatrix couldn't resist. She closed her eyes and reached out for his face. Voldemort froze as she blindly ran her fingers over his features. But _finally_, the details stuck to her memory. His skin was smooth, oddly so for a man his age, and not baby-smooth but dry and stiff. His nose was rather flat, so perhaps there _was_ foreign blood.

A strong hand grabbed her wrist. She gasped at the darkness pulsing from his rough palm. Only in fury did Aunt Cassiopeia's magic grow loud like this.

Her own magic roared awake, as much at the alarming foreign darkness as at being grabbed. By a man taller and stronger than her. While her back was trapped against a hard wall.

He wasn't projected like she'd come to expect, but he was magically shoved a full three feet back, and not all that gracefully. Still, he looked more startled than furious. Bellatrix sucked in a breath. They all were staring now. Well, she'd managed to keep attention mostly off her for a solid five hours. That had to count for something.

"I don't appreciate being grabbed," Bellatrix said, her tight smile a challenge. "And it's not fair that you get to see our faces and refuse to share yours."

She spared a look for the others then. Only Rookwood and Rabastan displayed no confusion (but Rabastan had been forewarned, the cheat). Travers' and Malfoy's eyes soon lit up in understanding, but Rodolphus, Rowle, and Jugson didn't lose their dumb frowns. _Come _on_, Rod!_ Finally his uncle leaned in to whisper, and Rod was left blinking furiously. _There, now you get it!_

"Can you conjure animals other than snakes, my Lord?" It was a possible explanation to how uncannily _real_ Morty was: that the man was a snake animagus. Then he'd viscerally _know_ snakes.

Voldemort's intrigued gaze felt, _again_, inappropriate for a man his age. Bellatrix tilted her neck invitingly, a teasing smile on her lips. His nose wasn't foreign at all, she noted: a honest, almost large, British conk. _Could it just be that the nose she'd felt under her fingers was too ugly for Voldemort to display publicly?_ _Wouldn't that be both so dumb and hilarious?_ Still, a glamour _and_ that forgetting thing the man did. Those spells needed energy to be maintained. Combined with such a high quality conjuration -

Bellatrix's jaw fell open when a unicorn materialized between her and Voldemort. It was... it looked... it _panicked_.

Because that's what happens when you trap a unicorn in a cramped room full of dark arts practitioners.

Chairs clattered to the ground as the others hastily cast shields in case of a charge. Funny they all went defensive instead of just throwing a net at the thing (_oh fine, the dazzlingly beautiful unicorn_).

Bellatrix's cutting hex struck before Ladon Lestrange could charm the large silver door open and let the snorting, bolting creature out. She whispered an _accio_ and triumphantly clutched dozens of long unicorn tail hair in her fist.

"Don't worry, Ladon, it won't last more than a couple of hours."

_A couple of hours. The blasted _unicorn _would not last more than two. full. hours. Say you've got a fifteen-inch penis while you're at it._

Ardra Travers badly stifled nervous laughter. She wasn't the only one.

Her head still spinning at the sheer display of power, Bellatrix sat down on one of the few still-upright chairs and sliced her thigh with one of the glistening meat knives. Her teeth ground against each other as a cry of pain fought to escape her mouth. Blood oozed out of the finger-length cut. She bound the wound with a few strands.

The bleeding slowed, then stopped. _Wow_. The wound stared back at her, angry and red, but _not bleeding! _Four real unicorn tail-hair would have made the wound vanish entirely, but for the conjured ones to have even a quarter of the magic of the real thing -

They were all staring at her. _Again_. Bellatrix glared, still wincing at the throbbing pain in her leg. She'd expected that at least the Ravenclaws would appreciate her being _thorough_.

_Wait – where was Morty?_ "Accio, Morty!"

The python zoomed out from under the table. Morty had _fled_ upon seeing the unicorn. Her conjured python had _a survival instinct_.

She _tried_, but this time she couldn't disguise her hunger as her eyes met Voldemort's.

Because, tonight, she most definitely was _not_ the most powerful person in the room.

She wrapped the rest of the strands against her leg and greedily watched every trace of the cut disappear.

"Miss Black, it's getting late, how about I apparate you home?"

"Gladly," Bellatrix breathed, jumping back to her feet.

Rod brushed against her, under the pretext of handing her a coat and a bag she could just as well have summoned. "Hey, want me to accompany you? He's... intense."

Rod looked... _concerned_. Bellatrix didn't understand why. She couldn't stop grinning. "I'll have to tell Aunt Cassy I found better."

Rod _despised_ Cassiopeia despite never having met her. Just because she treated Bellatrix like her toy. It was kind of sweet. Even Meda didn't get so outraged on her behalf. Besides, if Voldemort harmed her tonight, she'd at least have made him reveal his true colors early, before she could get her hopes up.

She conjured a backpack to hold Morty, making a point to focus, to make it a _lasting_ backpack. It shouldn't break apart for days. If Morty outlasted the backpack... Well, she'd have to dust up her bowing skills.

The place they apparated was decidedly _not_ her house. A thousand stars glittered above her and wet grass tickled her ankles. The air tasted like Scotland moor, and she could distinguish very little of her surroundings in the darkness.

"Where are we?"

"The place in which you're about to lose a duel."

Bellatrix's eyes lit up. She _really_ didn't regret coming tonight.

* * *

**1970 April – A week later**

"There it is." Meda kept her voice to a whisper as if they were doing something forbidden.

It was dinner time and Bellatrix's stomach growled impatiently but Meda had _insisted _to drag her all the way to the trophy room.

"Who's this Riddle?" Bellatrix demanded as they stood before one of the more recent trophy cabinets. "Why's he important?"

_Order of Merlin 3__rd__ class, services to the school._ Riddle was a suspiciously _muggle_-sounding name.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin and Head Boy. Graduated in 1944 with eleven NEWTS. There's no written record on why he got the award; it must have been something embarrassing for Hogwarts."

"So he's an overachiever who had _way_ too much to prove." Eleven NEWTs was _insane. _Even Rookwood would only be sitting nine. Eleven NEWTs _and_ Head Boy was just ridiculous. "But why should I care?"

"He's a parselmouth."

Ah. Andromeda really should have led with that. "Who told you?"

"The Bloody Baron. I asked him about recent parselmouths. He wasn't all that loquacious but he did mention Riddle and this Gaunt character called _Marvolo_ that could be Riddle's father or grandfather." Bellatrix hummed. Meda was starting to make a strong case. "I then checked the class pictures from the forties..." Meda headed off to the pile of boxes stacked behind the trophies. "There, this guy." Bellatrix frowned. Black hair, dark brown eyes, a non-flat nose, handsome... it _could_ be him.

"I've seen him before..." Bellatrix muttered. Her eyes lit up. _The old Slug Club pictures!_ Slughorn hanged those on every free surface he owned.

"- find Riddle in the old library ledgers," Meda was saying. "His interest in the darker tomes of the restricted section is... commendable."

Yes. A _very_ strong case.

"Slughorn must know," Bellatrix decided, her heart racing. "I'm going to ask him"

"Have you told Slughorn to block Cassiopeia's letters?"

_'How dare you'_, the Howler had gone. _'If you don't have an excellent excuse, I won't see you this summer.' _And of course Father had thrown a fit about the noise. If Bellatrix didn't write back and apologize profusely soon, no doubt the next letter would be another Howler, of the _'let's give your classmates stuff to talk about'_ kind. It had happened only one, in second year, and Bellatrix wanted no repeat of it.

"I should be safe for another week. I still don't know who that Voldemort is."

Except a ridiculously powerful wizard and a gorgeous dueler. He'd indulged her, letting her show off and dragging things out. She'd held back the worst of her dark arts, she'd been in too good a mood for her stronger spells anyway. It had been thrilling, but almost _scholarly. _He'd only cast a single spell not on the OWL syllabus, the tease, some twisting conjured tentacles that had lunged for her like a disembodied giant squid. Black tentacles in the Scotland night : she'd cut two into pieces before realizing there were _six_. The entrapment had not been painful, only _absolute_. He'd then shown her this _Ferox Appendicibus_ to her until she could repeat it. She hadn't told him conjurations were _her_ _thing _when he'd looked surprised to see her master it so quickly. She'd liked the glint in his dark eyes (those eyes she couldn't remember).

When she'd shown Cissy and Meda the black tentacles, they'd been dead impressed.

Morty had started looking ill a few days after she'd smuggled him back home. Cissy had been the first to spot that the food Morty had eaten was rotting in his stomach. The python's digestive system wasn't working. Bellatrix had been almost disappointed. Sure, an almost perfect snake that had lasted four whole days was extraordinary, but she'd been eager to have her notion of _impossible_ challenged. When she'd buried Morty, he'd begun showing signs of magical disintegration. _Poor Morty._

"Hey, if he can recognize your worth and respect you for it, don't let silly things stop you," Meda said with an unexpected squeeze of Bellatrix's shoulders. "And even if he doesn't and you decide you want nothing to do with him... You've put up with enough. You deserve the right to stand up for yourself. Cut Cassiopeia out of your life."

Warmth blossomed in Bellatrix's chest. "Thanks," she muttered, a little at a loss.

Meda hadn't looked all that thrilled by Voldemort's politics. She'd said those who wanted to do a whole lot of destroying before rebuilding were usually just good at destroying (_like Meda had a clue_), but she hadn't tried to tell Bella what to do, and that was something Bellatrix really appreciated.

First, though, she had questions for her Head of House.

* * *

Slughorn's office was a comfortable sprawl of greens, blues and silvers. Pickled food jars decorated the wood-and-gold cabinets, and a circle of cushy armchairs surrounded a table with a self-serving tea set always filled to the brim with hot tea. Success articles about former students decorated the left wall. The right wall was covered with pictures of a smug-looking Slughorn surrounded by a celebrity or another.

"Ah, Miss Black. Did you have a nice holiday? Tea?"

"Sure. Holidays were great. I've got a question about one of the Club's former students."

Slughorn nodded, his eyes crinkling indulgently because she hadn't asked him about _his_ holidays like it was proper, but who had time for that? He patted her arm invitingly as he urged her to sit down. He had this weird mentor attitude that fell somewhere between endearing and creepy. She owed him for the Slug Club, but he made her feel like a pet project of sorts. _The unmanageable Black daughter, turned into a respectable socialite. Blah. _

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." She'd never enjoyed subtlety. "What became of him?"

Slughorn lips thinned. He eyed her oddly, anger- no, weariness perhaps- tightening his features. "I.. I'm not sure I remember actually. So many kids, I'm ashamed to say they tend to blur..."

Right, the handsome young man in the pictures looked utterly _forgettable_. "Blur? The parselmouth Head Boy with eleven NEWTs?"

"Who told you Tom was a parselmouth?"

Bellatrix sighed, increasingly impatient. "I just want to know if he's Lord Voldemort."

Slughorn opened his mouth, his eyes too bright as he leaned back in his armchair. "What? Um – _who_? I mean- I _know_ who. What gave you _that_ idea?"

People dismissed bluntness as uncouth, especially in Slytherin, but Slughorn was proof that, well-wielded, bluntness made it harder for people to lie effectively. Bellatrix's hand twitched impatiently. She had to _know_.

She drew her wand and jabbed it at her unsuspecting teacher, her eyes boring into his.

"_Legilimens_," she hissed. "Is Voldemort Riddle?"

_Yes_, Riddle was Voldemort. And Slughorn was definitely wary. Not _terrified_, but wholly uneasy. Blurred images, a black-haired silhouette, a meeting in this very office, filled her eyes. Something suddenly shoved her _out_, but it was too late. Bellatrix let go a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"This is grounds for expulsion Miss Black!" Slughorn spluttered, backing away from her in shock. "Now -"

Her _obliviate_ struck before the portly man could finish his sentence or muster a shield spell of his own (the old softy hadn't even _reached for his wand_). Just the last twenty seconds forgotten. Light magic, because for once, it was easier to imagine the current in Slughorn's brain cells fizzing out, erasing his short term memory, than to will him to forget without messing something up. She hastily stuck her wand back into her pocket as he blinked dumbly at her.

"Sorry, old age must be creeping up on me," he said after a few seconds, the spark back in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't been obliviated in a while. Bellatrix could tell the difference between normal brain freeze and a memory charm. Her parents had used it enough times when she'd stumbled upon something she shouldn't have (or maybe for other reasons. She'd forgotten, _obviously_). "You wanted to ask me of my former students, Miss Black?"

"Yes, this picture," she said, walking to one with Riddle and his friends. "I recognize Brannon Rosier and Ladon Lestrange, but what did the rest become?" She didn't mention Riddle this time. "I mean, I'm trying to get an idea of what a successful life looks like. Your favorites from the '40s should be established by now."

She learned of Tiberius Nott (enchanted fabrics export), Nero Mulciber (kneazle breeding and wagers on manticore battles) and Silas Avery (a 'socialite who'd made himself indispensable', in other words a rich bloke good at monetizing and weaponizing gossip). She tried to reign in her impatience and not look too eager when he _finally_ got to Riddle.

Slughorn sighed ruefully. "Ah, Tom... Brilliant lad, full of curiosity. I wanted to help him get a job at the Ministry after his graduation, but... he was convinced he'd get there alone."

"So he didn't work for the Ministry?"

"No positions worth his time, he said." Bitterness twisted Slughorn's thin lips. _Ooh, someone had a grudge._ "Admittedly, with his background, I couldn't get him the offers a pureblood would have gotten, you understand. I wish he'd had the patience - But nevermind that. He applied at Hogwarts, but Albus didn't think Tom would be fit for teaching. I do wish I had been there during that last interview... Mind you, Tom was _brilliant_. Perhaps teaching is not the best use of his potential. As far as I know, he has been travelling."

"Riddle's a muggle name." '_His background'_ was already a damning thing to say, but Bellatrix had to know.

"Yes... Well, you know, talent sometimes crops up in the oddest places. _Now_, Zelenia Ogden, she also was in Riddle's year and _her_ I must tell you about -"

Bellatrix let him prattle a little. She even tried to listen, but she soon excused herself. Slughorn had been jovial as ever, but even when he'd thought she knew nothing of Riddle, he'd been eager to change the subject.

"So?" Cissy asked eagerly as Bellatrix joined her and Meda in their dorm.

"Voldemort's half-blood, and he's Tom Marvolo Riddle. I have... questions. I'll write him to say Morty's dead. I'll get him to meet me next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Meet in a public place," Narcissa warned. "Or if you _must_ meet him in private, take Lestrange with you. We'll make sure not to be too far."

Meda was laughing softly. "A half-blood, out-magicking everybody. Eh, he's probably alright, just paranoid because people are dumb. Dark like he is, and a parselmouth? He'll get no support from the progressive light families."

"So it doesn't matter?" Bellatrix exclaimed, incredulous. She looked at Cissy for support and was relieved to see her little sister also staring at Meda.

"You had _fun_ learning from him. His blood doesn't make Morty or that conjured unicorn any less real. Anyway, he's from Slytherin's line. Better muggle blood than two _Gaunt_ parents. That family has sunk so low it's better forgotten."

True, Bellatrix allowed grudgingly. But this _Lord Voldemort_ still had better answer her questions.

* * *

**Author's notes.**

You bet Meda will kick herself when she realizes just how badly she misjudged Voldemort. To her defense, she was just glad to see Bella enthusiastic about something, and she has a vested interest in making her sisters more tolerant of anything not-pureblood (as of now, she's in sixth year and has just begun secretly speaking to Ted Tonks).

Voldemort openly admits that his father was a muggle (in the graveyard scene, book four), so I figure it's common knowledge by the end of the first war for his inner circle. They just don't care (or don't dare to say they do). Rationalizing hypocrisy is a very widespread talent.

There's at least one more pre-war chapter, possibly two. I'm excited to explore the dynamic between Bellatrix and Voldemort but I'm not sure how much of the first and second wars I want to cover. I'd love to hear what you'd like to read about, or just anything that comes to your mind after reading this chapter^^.


	13. B: Darkness Rising

**Thank you Paul and ****GRandElusYon for your reviews. And** **Happy holidays to you all!**

* * *

**(1970 April – continued)**

Magic thickened the air, feeding the abnormally thick trunks all around her : greedy, grabby trees, sucking onto everything, leaving barely enough for grass to grow. Bellatrix wasn't _deep_ in the Forbidden Forest, still within the Hogwarts wards' perimeter, and yet she felt watched, that indistinct hair-rising sensation of walking through a spiderweb of foreign magics.

Voldemort had told her to follow the first stream she'd find by walking East from the greenhouses, until it widened into a pool with small waterfalls. Bellatrix had to squint to see through the fog rising from the shimmering waters, but there was no mistaking the rumble of waterfalls. She was precisely on time. Punctuality was for vassals and inferiors, but this was not a meeting she wanted to miss. She swatted away a lacewing fly and impatiently settled under willow, where yesterday's rains hadn't soaked the ground.

He wasn't there. Just her, lacewings, and, from the noise, toads of some kind. _Ten minutes. _Ten more minutes in this gloomy, eerie fog, then she'd leave. Her cheeks flushed with fury at being made to wait like some servant. Her wand never left her hand. She would've cursed the toads, if she'd not been wary of attracting the attention of something bigger.

Ten minutes became fifteen, then twenty, and Bellatrix began to hate him. To hate herself for putting up with it.

Rustling and soft steps had her raise her wand. A tall shadow walked out of the trees. He didn't quite _glide_ like Malfoy or stride exuberantly like Ladon Lestrange. No, he just walked like a man who knew people would wait for him. _Bastard_.

"Miss Black. Is that a blood tracker on you? Did you make your parents come all the way to Hogsmeade before our meeting?"

Bellatrix had to snicker at that. "Oh, you know Daddy, he worries about his little girls. Not quite ready to have strange men offer them conjured snakes." Cissy and Meda had placed the tracker, obviously.

It was a struggle, to keep her eyes away from his. Because she _wanted_ to look at him. This conniving half-blood. And how dare he, force her to bow her head under the threat of Legilimency. He had to enjoy that greatly. _Riddle_.

"Will you share your face today, my Lord?" she said, forcing her voice sweet. She wasn't all that good at it, it came out insolent, but not _quite_ angry.

"Why would you deserve _that, _child?"

_How dare he._ She was giving up her precious free time. Risking detention. For a half-blood. Who didn't even think her worthy of knowing his face. His true name. Calling her _child_, to remind her she was nobody.

She wanted him bowing to _her_.

Muddy electric-blue smoke bled from her wand, floating towards that arrogant man like slow grasping fingers. _Vampire-mist_, one of Aunt Cassy's. His lips twitching indulgently, the man cast a protection spell while the deceptively sluggish mist was still over a yard away.

The smoke latched to the shield. _The stronger the shield, the more the hex has to feed on._ The smoke hardened into a lethal diamond-hard spear, sucking the shield dry of it magic, and shot for Voldemort, so fast it was only a blur.

A shattering curse followed it by a fraction of a second. _Break_, Bellatrix willed, pouring her fury in her magic, _break!,_ _you halfblood who decided I wasn't worthy of your respect._

Again, she didn't wait to see if he had blocked it (but he must have, partially at least, or he'd not be standing. She was confident she'd heard a groan of pain). '_Incarcerous!' _she shouted in her mind. She wanted his condescending smile erased. His eyes to bulge. If he passed out from lack of air, she'd not need his permission to find out what he looked like.

A sudden, blinding blast threw her backwards. _Move_, she willed. Sudden weariness slammed into her as her magic shifted her in mid-air, but better that than crashing against tree. Her feet found slippery... wet... _Morgana's tits, she was in the pool!_

Cold water to her knees and elbows, Bellatrix lost precious seconds to find her balance. Her anger was spent, fear taking over. She gasped when her left arm failed to come out of the water.

_Ice_. He'd trapped her in ice. This was a _magical_ forest. The elements were supposed to be _resistant_ to magic! Her breathing quickened. _You chose to duel Mr. I Conjured A Unicorn, Bella, what were you expecting?_

_Trapped._ She had to get out. "Reducto!"

The ice around her shattered, sending thousand blade-sharp shards in every direction.

Before Voldemort, the cloud of shards became a wall of water, crashing harmlessly on the ground. "Enough, before I kill you!" the man bellowed. "It'd be a shame."

Breathing hard, Bellatrix wrapped herself in her best shields, draining the last of her fear. _She didn't trust that faceless half-blood one second._ A more mundane frustration took over her. She was sopping wet. Her knees and elbows throbbed. They'd be black and blue by tonight.

She stomped back onto dry ground, shoes sloshing and water dripping from her robes. But she wouldn't risk weakening her shields for some drying spell.

He was dry, his robes weren't ruined. It's like he hadn't dueled at all. A dark glint in the grass caught her eye. Blood, right there on the ground where he'd first stood. So the vampire mist _had_ struck true! Voldemort just looked sharp because he'd spelled himself clean.

Elation filled her. As much because she'd struck him as because she'd _failed_ to. If she'd attacked Rod like that, she'd have killed him. Same with Malfoy, and none of the seventh years (except perhaps Meda on a good day) outclassed that snob.

Bellatrix dropped her shields and dried herself, her fear replaced by a sense of inevitability. If Voldemort wanted her dead, she would be. No point in worrying about what she couldn't control.

"I was mad at you," she said. "It would have been a waste to pass up the occasion. Last time we crossed wands was almost something Flitwick would've been happy to supervise."

"Why are you mad at me, Miss Black?"

There was a glint in his brown eyes, and yet it she couldn't tell whether he was testing her or if he was genuinely confused. _Manners, you half-blood, heard of those? _

"You're late. You act like seeing your face is a privilege. You legilimize me." He was smiling now, _smiling_. That condescending - "You're a Riddle."

Voldemort went very silent, his smile gone. Ah, _there_ was the threat she'd been expecting. It wasn't just in his bearing, his expression, it sizzled from his. This pulsing darkness she'd felt under her fingers when she'd touched his face.

"I legilimized and obliviated Slughorn," she admitted, not wanting to be legilimized herself. Besides, it felt nice to boast. "Why _Lord_ _Voldemort_? Why not Gaunt? Shouldn't be too hard to persuade whoever Lord Gaunt is to sign the right papers. That house is a disgrace, they should be begging you."

A sneer twisted his thin lips. "_Gaunt_. All those family names, dragged down by history. Boasting of feats done centuries past to conceal that they've personally achieved _nothing_. Illustrious bloodlines, yes, and powerful magic, but so often squandered. I want a new kind of house. One where members are chosen. Only the worthy."

First of his name. Like some muggle. This _half-blood_. Whose dark-fueled magic hummed in a way she'd never encountered before.

Arms crossed, Bellatrix arched her neck to get a better look at him. She had Riddle's Hogwarts pictures and the resemblance was obvious. Perhaps she could live with not remembering his adult face. "Do you know how to fly? You wanted to teach at Hogwarts, would you teach me?"

He gazed at her assessingly. "You're a special one, aren't you, Miss Black? In exchange you'd join my house?"

"No." A vassal. Disguised as something new but a vassal nonetheless. "_No_. You don't get to own me. You don't get to be my father."

"Not your father." He sounded rather horrified at the thought "your Lord. You would stay a Black. Those who follow me will rise with me." The last was both threat and promise, ringing solemn like a prophecy.

"Perhaps _they_ need all the help they can get. Perhaps loyalty's the only valuable thing _they've_ got. I don't need to be _carried._" Anger bubbled under Bellatrix's skin. This was it, this would be him saying he didn't want her unless she became his little pet.

She gasped, shoved to her knees by an invisible hand. _Morgana's tits, his_ _wand was limp by his side! How-_ A peculiar redness mixed with the brown of his irises."I can make e_veryone_ bow. Those I mark will be mine to defend." _Mark_? _What?_ "Wizards and witches will flock to me in droves once I reveal all I am and all I can do. But those are nothing : opportunists, sheep who'll do anything for scraps of power. Those who support me from the start are those who have vision. Those who deserve to be valued."

"I get it," Bellatrix ground out, her chin digging into her collarbone, forcing her to stare at the ground. "Power's good, but only as long as it's under _your_ command. You're no different, just angry you're not the one charge. Your problem with Dumbledore isn't _politics_, it's that he'd crush you worse than Grindewald."

Bellatrix was ready for it. Pain, a curse, the Cruciatus even. Perhaps he'd kick her, like the halfblood he was.

Her thoughts froze. Something, _someone_, was suddenly steering them. Her vision blurred as she lost herself in memories.

_Her, flustered, outraged yet fascinated."So it doesn't matter?"_

_Andromeda, ever even-tempered and logical "He's from Slytherin's line. Better muggle blood than two Gaunt parents."_

_Morty, freshly conjured, and Bellatrix's awe his flawlessness. The elation, just minutes ago, at seeing Voldemort almost unhurt after she'd thrown at him all she had._

_Dueling. In a spare classroom in the dungeons._

_With Rod at the end of last year. Winning and slamming Rod backwards in frustration because it had been _too_ easy._

_With Lucius in third year, slicing his arm in half. Screaming, both his and the Slytherin prefect, who'd clearly overestimated her healing abilities._

_With Ebony Greengrass, Orpheus Travers, Phoebe Scrimgeour, Benjamin Bole, Silvana Higgs... winning unchallenged, sowing glimmers of fear and distaste in her opponents' eyes. Unsatisfying duels that had no repeats. _

_With Gareth Selwyn, not holding back. Annoyed but thrilled by the challenge when he grabbed her arm from behind a wall of magic._

The dizzying dance of memories slowed. Voldemort had somehow sensed it, that this memory _mattered_.

His grip on her mind was too strong. The echo of her shock that rotten day, the humiliation swallowed her once more. _She had to -_

_The vampire mist, coming from Cassiopeia's wand._ _'Raise your strongest shield, my dear.' The mist becoming a spear, impaling Bellatrix's arm._

Voldemort hissed. Bellatrix got a fraction of her mind back. She latched onto the thing that had made him slip : pain. _Curious, was he? Then let him see ! _

_Cassiopeia breaking her hand. The agony of her splintering fingers. _

_Ten year old Bellatrix, stabbing herself to get her wandless magic under control._

_Bellatrix, smashing her femur at thirteen, so Meda and Cissy could make sure the healing spells that had worked on pigeons would work on people too. _

_Aunt Cassy, swallowing her in flames to push her endurance until Bellatrix's shields failed and her skin burned._

She gasped for breath as her mind became fully hers once more. She found Voldemort staring back, breathing hard, his skin deathly pale.

"Just a bit of pain. Made me more powerful." Her smile was broad and insolent. "Something wrong, my Lord?" Perhaps he'd break _both_ her hands now.

"You're not afraid of me," he whispered. "They could have broken you, but they broke your ability to fear instead." He still sounded intrigued, but there was something else to his voice. He'd shed the charm, leaving something more serious, and angrier. "You're right. I did want to teach at Hogwarts. You're hindered by the way you pour your emotions in your dark spells. After a few seconds, minutes at most, you have drained yourself."

Bellatrix frowned. It seemed inevitable to her. Light duels could last a hour, but dark duels were another beast entirely. The kind of anger, of fear, she put in her strongest curses... they just weren't emotions you could sustain all day long. Sitting in class eight hours a day was hard enough as it was when she was _calm_.

"Take one of my hair."

_What- Oh, whatever._ Bellatrix reached out and plucked a dark hair from his head. She made sure to seize it at the root, in case he was trying to fool her with a wig.

Voldemort took a vial from his robes. A slow-bubbling muddy potion rested inside. She eyed it suspiciously.

"Drop the hair inside."

_Wh- ?_ _Oh!_ "It's polyjuice," Bellatrix breathed. Phoebe Scrimgeour had sneaked in a batch last year, for a sex-change party. Unfortunately, some squeamish idiot had tattled to Slughorn before they could try it. "You want me -

"No. _I _will drink it."

As soon as the hair touched the potion, it turned a repulsive grayish-black. As vile as it looked, it had to taste _worse_. Polyjuice and dark arts didn't mix well.

She managed to keep a straight face as he gagged it down. Nothing seemed to change. No. Wrong. Everything had changed. Now she could look away and _remember_.

Frowning, she reached out again. The nose she felt matched the one her eyes saw. _So what was that flatness she'd felt at the Lestranges'?_

"I don't get it," she admitted. _What would anyone gain by polyjuicing into themselves?_

"That'll be your homework, Miss Black."

* * *

Within days (thank you, Prof. Slughorn), Bellatrix learned that when polyjuicing into yourself, self-image played an role, and so disfigurements acquired in adulthood, and sometimes even lost limbs, could be erased. Something, doubtless something gruesome, must have happened to Voldemort's face.

It wasn't until the summer, upon reading Corwin's _Magis Malefici_, a text about mages that had been swallowed by their own darkness, that she began suspecting it could be something Voldemort had done to himself. He revealed it to her shortly after, his true face, the unnaturally smooth-yet-rigid skin, the snake-like flatness to his nose, the red glow to his slanted eyes. He still looked somewhat like himself, only... altered.

It was oddly beautiful. _'Are you looking forward to the day you'll get to flaunt your true appearance'_, she'd asked honestly. He'd laughed, and for the first time, it had sounded absolutely genuine.

They had unspoken rules. In public, she never undermined him or called him out on his blood status or true appearance. She didn't speak of their lessons to any but Meda or Cissy, and even to them, she did not reveal the plans he shared with her. He would occasionally taunt and shout, or put an abrupt end to their encounters, but he never caused her pain, not more than what came inevitably from the spells they used. He never threatened her sisters. He usually was punctual. She never was late.

He told her of the Dark Mark. She admired the magic of it, and flatly refused to be branded. She'd be his apprentice, not his vassal. After he'd been particularly insufferable, she promised to kill him one day, when she'd not need him anymore. He said that if she behaved, he might share the secret of immortality with her (she enjoyed flattery, so she didn't tell him he was full of it).

She told Cassiopeia she'd found another teacher after her second meeting with Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest. She didn't say that she'd asked Slughorn to keep Cassiopeia's owls and letters away. It was something their Head of House volunteered to do at the beginning of every year _'I know families can be a bit much,'_ he'd say. He came to warn her, after her exams. Two Howlers, four letters. Slughorn pretended he hadn't read every word and Bellatrix pretended she believed him.

Cassiopeia had come to Kings' Cross expecting a confrontation, instead Bellatrix grinned and hugged her, too fast for the stunned woman to react. Bellatrix's thick curls, unsurprisingly, got in the way of their embrace. The teenager had lathered them in a nifty little potion she'd bought from Voldemort (along with antidotes for her and her sisters, to avoid accidents during the train ride). Aunt Cassy found that when she tried to talk, she had no voice. When she tried to reach for her wand, her joints creaked like that of a woman twice her age. Pain crinkled her widening eyes.

"This is the _nice_ warning," Bellatrix whispered. She would have done anything for Aunt Cassy once. But now, with Voldemort, she had realized power didn't have to come at the price of your self-respect. "If you declare war now..." Bellatrix's smiled broadened. "Well, I think it will be _fun_."

"Come, Bella, too many words ruin the effect." When Narcissa smiled at Aunt Cassy, it held a serene beauty that Bellatrix could never match. There was no mirth in Andromeda's expression, only condemnation. She linked arms with Bellatrix as they strode away, pride softening her steely gaze.

Life was good.

* * *

**December 1971 – Bellatrix's 7th year**

Snow howled around them, from the storm Bellatrix had conjured in the Hogwarts courtyard to make they would be left alone.

"I think I hate her," Bellatrix said. "I really do." She lowered her voice. There was no need to get worked up after all. The solution was obvious. "Maybe I'll kill the muggle. Yes, I'm going to sit my N.E.W.T.s, then I'll kill him."

Sirius glowered at her arms crossed. _Her stubborn Gryffindor little cousin. _

__Oh no, he wouldn't. __"I forbid you to write to her!"

"Fine, I won't." Sirius was truly a terrible liar.

Narcissa grabbed her arm tightly as they headed back to the dungeons. "Don't kill Andromeda. Nobody kills Meda!"

"Not her," Bellatrix muttered, "just the muggle..." _But what if Meda just went to find another one after Bellatrix killed that filthy Tonks?_

The words from the letter she'd burned were etched in her mind.

_'Mother and Father have used blood as an excuse to keep us leashed for two long. We owe them nothing. They are despicable. I'm leaving them. I'm not leaving you. I'll be just an apparition away. We don't need them, their name, or their money. I'll be waiting for you. We're stronger together.'_

"She acts like she's doing us a favor," she spat. "Like she's so certain we'll be happy to join her. We can't join her."

"Is that a question?"

"We _cannot_," Bellatrix said more forcefully. Mudbloods were nothing. How could Meda ask her to become _nothing_? Bellatrix had barely begun to be treated with respect. She tried to imagine Lord Voldemort's reaction if she- How could Meda ask her to give up all _that_? And for what, live with Meda and her pet mudblood in some muggle house?

"When Sirius will be Lord Black, he'll reinstate her."

Huh. Cissy really _did_ think far ahead. Bellatrix nodded slowly. "Are you suggesting it's Uncle Orion I should kill instead? Useless unless Sirius is 17, or the laws change... Mind you, I could kill _both_..."

Narcissa rolled her eyes, her lips twitching despite herself. "We just have to marry well. Mother and Father will have no more power over us."

Bellatrix stared wide-eyed at her little sister. _Marry_. _What an idea!_ She wasn't going to wait until she was _married_ for her life to begin.

"So we don't write her?" For all the steadiness in her voice, Cissy's eyes were bright and pleading.

How dare Meda do this to them. "We will, when she begs for our forgiveness and ask what she can do to have us back."

When it didn't happen, Bellatrix took it to mean Andromeda didn't miss them all that much. She failed to realize she was modeling her expectations around the toxic dynamic she and Aunt Cassy had had. That Meda had meant _'I'll be waiting for you'_ with full sincerity, and that it was not a power play but as close to begging as her proud older sister would go. That _'we're stronger together'_ was the 'I love you' that was said so easily in other families, but that, among the Black cousins, only Regulus had mastered in childhood.

When Narcissa told her Meda's second letter to her held no apology, no begging, just _'I miss you. Please, don't let Mother and Father ruin this too'_, as if it was _her and Cissy's_ fault, Bellatrix burned her own letter unread.

* * *

Yuletide was miserable that year. Father had spelled Meda's room shut and spent most of his days pacing.

The evening dragged at a snail's pace. _Why did their parents feel the need to dine all together, as if _any _of them enjoyed this?_

"I may have been too forceful with her," Father muttered, his eyes far away. "A spellcrafter daughter would not be _such_ a disgrace. I hear the economic prospects are good..." He sounded subdued. Almost like he cared. How cute.

"Well, she'll have no choice but to come back," Mother snapped. "I've argued Andromeda should be categorized at mudblood now. Yaxley had the gall to stare at me so, but he didn't defy me. That business of hers won't be legal until she's got all her permits in order, and we'll make sure that's _never_."

"Meda's a mudblood now?" Narcissa repeated tonelessly, holding her silver fork limply over her half-eaten plate.

"She chose this! I'm trying to get my daughter _back_!"

_Yes, Mother, you've always cared most about us when you were _discussing _us._ Druella Black had never been all that invested in her family or her marriage. Even Narcissa, by far the favorite, had been lucky to get an hour a day of their mother's time. It seemed absence truly _did_ make the heart grow fonder.

"An _you two_ have been utterly disappointing! Bellatrix, how is it that your sister -"

Bellatrix was fed up with listening to them whine. "I'm flooing out, don't wait up for me."

The plates rattled as Father bolted upright "You're not going anywhere!" Wonderful, now _both_ her parents were shouting.

"Careful, if you're too mean, I might run off with a mudblood too," Bellatrix said, her grin unabashed. She itched to hex them both. Pity Father had stopped raising his wand to her shortly before her OWLs, after she'd blocked his curse so forcefully the rebound had cracked one of his ribs. _'We're few us Blacks, we have to learn to live with each other', _he'd said, suddenly almost charming. _'I'm glad you're powerful. Our house needs that.' _Spineless hypocrite.

She walked into the fireplace and disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

It was almost eleven, pitch dark and close to freezing. Bellatrix was sitting cross-legged on the frozen ground, conjuring tiny tornadoes to dig obscenities in the thin layer of muddy snow. She was slowly getting the hang of it, this dark-casting without draining herself entirely of her emotions.

He apparated soundlessly. The sight of him sent thrill up Bellatrix's spine. She'd feared he'd not bother to come on such short notice. Voldemort's slanted eyes flashed red in the night. He'd stopped the glamours and polyjuice months ago, when it was just the two of them. "Is that Tonks so fearsome you can't take care of him? Do you require some assistance?"

She rolled her eyes at his teasing. "He's nothing. The mudblood's just the excuse she found." Admittedly, little else could have enraged Father and Mother quite _that_ much.

"Oh dear, what did your family do to deserve such an indignity?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Father decided Andromeda would spend six months shadowing Lord Parkinson at the Ministry. He wanted her to marry Dianthus Parkinson or some other dumb weakling heir, so she'd be Lady regnant in all but name and boost his position. Never asked her what _she_ wanted."

Cissy thought it was some romance thing, but Bellatrix didn't buy _that_ for one second. Meda was just fed up of hiding behind her silly muggle books and wanted to live her life. So she'd gotten herself disowned to freedom. Which was a _really_ dumb way to go about things, but Bellatrix could have forgiven it had Meda not treated her and Cissy like they were Mother and Father, people to be sneaked around and lied to. She'd accept nothing less than Andromeda _crawling_ back.

"You think I'm wrong? That the mudblood bewitched her somehow?" But what would Voldemort know, of Andromeda?

"I don't. That'd be giving him too much credit. So many wizards are oddly eager to grant mudbloods such _power_, to blame them for our ills. Mudbloods must be either excluded or forcibly integrated. As the majority of our allies prefer exclusion, exclusion it shall be." His sigh was thick with exasperation. "Muggles are such an inconvenience only because we let them. Even were the Statute to be breached, we can vanish their weapons and kill their generals. Wizards will be _very_ well treated the moment we take the world leader's families hostage."

He spoke to her like to an adult. It was still novel enough to be flattering. "How long will all this take, my Lord?" All these political dinners and back-alley whispers... "When will we actually _act_? You have nice teeth, you should stop hiding them."

His smile was fleeting. She _knew_ he shared her impatience. She sometimes feared he was too old, too entrenched in the games of words and favors played by the elite, to act any different.

"I've... encouraged some of our lesser allies to ignore the laws," he revealed after a pause. "I want to see our brave aurors in action. I want to read what the Prophet chooses to say of it. To identify potential recruits, who to target, and what kind of resistance to expect if we fail to seize control of the Wizengamot peacefully." A sinister grin lit up his face. "Don't worry, Bella, we _will_ fail."

She and Lord Voldemort understood each other beautifully.

* * *

**1972 – October**

The wards' pulse dimmed as Bellatrix flew along it, ten yards above the green field. It was just a flicker, almost nothing, but Bellatrix had cast those wards, and even if wards weren't her strongest magic, they didn't _flicker_.

Her wand gave her nothing more, but her eyes stopped on something that shouldn't have been there. A small bee plushtoy stood out against the freshly cut grass. _Morgana, those people never gave up!_

"Accio!"

"Don't - "

A bolt of black lightning shot from the plushtoy-portkey. _Wha – _It struck Bellatrix's hastily conjured shield, and sent her and her broom spinning downwards. One of the lightning streaks burned her arm. She gasped, her vision blurring.

"You amateur!" Marshall exclaimed. Her nervous laughter died. "Merlin, Black, you could've gotten hurt so bad! Weren't you paying attention at training? When there's a breach, we call the aurors."

"I can handle a boobied portkey."

"You got hit! It takes just one slip, Black. Don't make me write you up."

Stocky and short-haired, Marshall was the middle-aged remnant of what had once been a three-seasons-famous Chaser. Most former league players ended up support, warding Quidditch fields, keeping an eye on the players and making sure nobody tinkered with the balls. Fans leaving portkeys around to try and get access to the players, and booby trapping them to punish any Games&Sports agent who'd deactivate them, was turning out to be one of the more _usual_ occurrences.

"You're swaying, girl. Come on, I'll take you to our medic." Bellatrix's protests were swallowed by her own yawn. Her hands felt slippery on the broom's handle. "It's Ludo," Marshall went on, jealousy creeping into her voice. "He makes them go mental. Kids who barely scraped three N.E.W.T.s work the darnedest spells to get close to their idols."

Marshall was Puddlemere United, Bellatrix worked for the Wasps, team of the blonde wonder that was Ludo Bagman. If the Wasps beat the Cannons tonight (highly likely), that would make _six_ wins. Puddlemere was refereeing.

The job required solid spellcasting, was outdoors, and had her on a broom half of the time. Bellatrix didn't mind the odd hours, or having to keep an eye out for crooks, drunks and thieves instead of enjoying the games. On the contrary, the right to hex people was the best part of the job. She'd asked Slughorn to recommend her and had only announced the news to her dear parents _after_ the work contract had been signed. Mother had left the room in a huff, but Father, amazingly, had nodded. _'You meet all sorts, at Games & Sports, you get to see the most powerful witches and wizards with their inhibitions down. Keep your eyes open.'_

All sorts alright. Puddlemere's medic was a mudblood. Marshall was half-blood herself. The Wasps had to be the last all pureblood team, and that was with the loosest definition of the word. Their keeper not only had a muggle grandparent on each side but openly admitted to it.

Bellatrix's legs almost gave out under her when she landed near the support tent. She could barely keep her eyes open, even as she pushed her magic to fight against the sudden drowsiness. _Bastards_. Next time, she'd trap the grass around the portkey and leave it alone. _Let's see how those dungbrains enjoyed being strung by their feet._

She let herself crash against the bed freshly conjured next to her. Her eyes immediately closed, as if she hadn't slept in days. _No sleeping,_ she chanted to herself, her panic rising as she realized even her lips had stopped working. No _sleeping! _Spells tickled her skin. That mudblood had better find the counter quickly.

"This is the Wasps' new girl?" The mediwizard said after a few minutes. "Didn't realize she was straight out of school. Didn't Stuart apply for the job?"

"She's Noble and Ancient. What'd you expect?"

"Lay off, guys." Marshall intervened. "Black's a damn good spellcaster and never whines. A bit vicious, but if I had authority to sack anybody, she's not make my top five."

"Wait, _those_ Blacks? You asked if she's still seeing her own sister? Disowned for liking a muggleborn. I can't believe this shit still happens in 1970. Stuart deserved the job twice over. I'm getting drinks with Lizzie and Doug tonight. Seeing how successful they have gotten gives me hope. Let's pray Blacks' friends don't shut down the Nautilus."

"Come on, Christopher, cheer up, you'll soon have a picture of Ludo for your kid."

Bellatrix had _tried_ to react, only, her eyes stayed shut and her body not responding. Her wand was still in her hand, and there was nothing wrong with her mind, only her senses, so she focused. _I want to know where he is,_ she willed, curiosity and fury (because how dare they bring up Meda. Meda, who after almost a year still had to show her face) mixing in equal parts.

Her tracking spell stuck to the mudblood's robes like an invisible leech. A freezing liquid that tasted like melted ginger was suddenly pushed down her throat. She bolted upright, eyes wide open as the spell's hold dissolved.

"Gotcha!" The mudblood smiled. "It's that sleeping curse the Russian hooligans cast during the last worldcup, shuts your body down. Next time, cast a waking spell as soon as you're hit, Miss Black. You won't need the potion then."

Bellatrix yawned, this time because of the magic she'd spent to stay awake despite the curse. "Thanks," she said with her best polite smile. Thank you, _Christopher. _He smiled back, as if he hadn't just said she didn't deserve her job, as if he had a clue about her.

The Nautilus had been making the Prophet's business section often of late. It was a big perfumes, cosmetics, jewelry and accessories business run by muggleborn. They'd hired over two dozen muggleborn in less than three years and putting traditional shops out of business. Rabastan was struggling to not shut down Lestrange Mirrors, because everyone now wanted 2-galleon knockoffs that sung you praises instead of the real thing (Bellatrix had forgiven the family mirror for all the griping over her untamed curls after it had spotted a beginning of phoenix rash early enough to avoid permanent magical burns). Those people used words like _demand_ and _modernity_, claimed people deserved _variety_, and sold their barely-magicked muggle trinkets at prices hard-working artisans couldn't hope to ever match. That kind of trash convinced people they didn't need to invent new spells or experiment with potions. It was making _money_, instead of magic, the new power. The Nautilus' address had not been made public.

Thanks to _Christopher_, Bellatrix now knew where it was. Right at the edge of East Cowes in the Isle of Wight. Another place where mages nowadays found themselves surrounded by those over-breeding muggles. A goblin-crafted, rune-carved fence surrounded the building. Bellatrix's lips curled. Manor-strength wards. There was no getting through _that_.

Not that she needed to. There were a few advantages to growing up in a manor in London. One of those was buried in the stone-vaulted cellar, kept harmless by a net of freezing charms. The Battle of London had been fifteen years before Bellatrix's birth, but tales of fire and roaring flying machines had been plentiful in her childhood. Father had shown them, in a loaned pensieve, how the bombs had torn through houses and factories. Grandpa Pollux had frozen the bombs ensnared by the wards and Grandma Irma had cast beacons of light in the hope the German muggles would be thorough in their destruction. Unfortunately, despite the damage, the manor had gained only a half-acre of land. Muggles were like rats : they kept coming back and just wouldn't stay away from land they could see on a map.

Disillusioned on her broom a thousand feet above the Nautilus, Bellatrix emptied her pockets full of miniaturized bombs, and let them drop. After a couple of seconds, she undid the charms on them. Seventeen explosives, the biggest several hundred pounds heavy, plummeted downwards. _That's for Lestrange Mirrors, mudbloods. And for saying I didn't deserve my job._

The evening sky went red, then brown as dust filled the air. Bellatrix's shields screamed as the shock-wave crashed around her, showing her backwards hundreds of yards. The witch blinked tears out of her eyes as acrid smoke filled her lungs. A chorus of muggle sirens reached Bellatrix's ears. Seeing close while being far, the first magic she'd mastered in childhood, served her well then.

As it turned out, goblin crafted, rune-carved fences made bombs bounce off. Mostly. Of the steel and steel and brick warehouse, everything except the windows was still intact. Of the cluster of muggle houses five hundred yards away, on the other hand... Half the town was now ruined, gaping wound filled with burning gutted houses. Those mudblood fools had rushed out of the Nautilus to assist the screaming muggles. So many witnesses, so much work to come for their poor obliviators. Really, the mudbloods should have just congratulated themselves on the strength of their wards and let the muggles die.

Because if there was _one_ thing that got the Ministry panicking was their precious Statute being breached. Since television had been invented, it had become a full-fledged paranoia. Days after the incident, the Nautilus' talk about using purely muggle ways to get their goods from muggle corporations all over the world stopped being called ingenious, and became _suspicious_. After all, was it so hard to believe that the mudblood's sympathies lay with muggles rather than wizards?

And there was the questions of where the explosion had come from. Whispers that the Nautilus only hired muggleborn so they could experiment on forbidden magics, in order to upset the current order, struck a chord. Even the light-aligned were uncomfortable (_'because muggleborn are too new to magic,' _they began saying_. 'They lack the generations of experience we have. They need to be guided.'_)

A month later, muggleborn became forced by law to have a pureblood partner to open businesses. The number of muggleborn employees could not exceed the number of pureblood ones anymore. One could think it wasn't so harsh, with muggleborn making up only ten percent of the wizarding population, and purebloods over half. But prejudice, distrust of strangers, and prioritizing family had always made muggleborn integration difficult, so most of those who still worked in the wizarding world had one or two-people businesses, and only a minority were partnered with someone with two magical parents.

Desperation makes people act out. Then those desperate, often violent, actions are used as justification : 'see, they _are_ savages'. More laws began to follow, until in 1976, muggleborn with no jobs who weren't married to purebloods began having their wands taken from them. But let's get back to 1972 first.

* * *

"Your move," Bellatrix said unceremoniously, sipping spicy pumpkin juice in a corner of the Three Broomsticks. She'd just caught up with Cissy and Barty Junior (that creep had followed Narcissa and hovered around the attention-diverting wards, until they'd given in and invited him to their table). Junior was still a whiner with daddy issues but, admittedly, a clever and charismatic one. She'd have to drop a word about him to Voldemort. One day.

"Excuse me?" Voldemort replied, curiosity drawing a thin smile on his lips.

Bellatrix slid over the Prophet copy she'd saved with a pointed, rather smug, glance.

"_You -_ What spell did you use? The explosion was spectacular."

She had his attention, and his interest, she let herself bask in it for a few seconds with a growing, teasing grin. He wandlessly conjured a small flame and blew it at her, threateningly close to her hair.

She pretended to scowl. "_Fine_. The incantation is 'Luftwaffe'. Fitting for mudbloods."

Something darkened in Voldemort's gaze, and Bellatrix abruptly remembered that the man before her had been living with muggles during the summer of 1940.

"We had about a ton of explosives under the manor, courtesy of the German muggles," she elaborated. "They were going to waste. So... when are all you fancy politicians going to do something other than _talk_?"

Voldemort stayed silent, his tense expression unfathomable. Bellatrix twitched, nervous she'd angered him. He had yet to turn on her, but she couldn't help waiting for the day he'd want to put her in her place.

Voldemort threw back his scotch and abruptly stood up. "Look out for Thursday's paper."

Bellatrix released the breath she'd been holding as he strode out of the pub. A slow grin light up her face. _Finally_.

Thursday morning came after a particularly rowdy Quidditch match. Bellatrix groaned, rubbing her sleep deprived eyes. She blinked in momentary confusion at the petite blonde woman sleeping next to her.

The night before, the crowd had gone wild after Ludo had struck a bludger against a Quaffle, scoring one of the Wasps' most spectacular goals in recent history. He'd then struck the second bludger at the Bats' seeker while the whole team was still staring at the goals slack jawed, and unseated her from her broom with a nasty crunch. Cries of 'cheat' had begun ringing in the Bats' stands and then... what usually happens when you put smug drunk English wizards together with angry drunk Irish wizards happened. Procedure was to first evacuate the top box (anti-apparition wards were necessary to keep the crowd to only those who'd paid for their tickets, but it made for a logistics pickle whenever a brawl erupted).

Bellatrix's gaze swept the stands. One meaty white-haired wizard she recognized from the VIP list, some three rows down the top box, attracted her attention. Bellatrix frowned, pretty sure the man was one of the big names at Saint Mungo's. The fool was heading straight for the thick of the brawl, screaming profanities and shooting bludgeoning hexes. _Morgana, did he want to get killed? _Bellatrix flew for him (you didn't say no when a powerful person handed you such an easy life debt). She encased him in a ring of conjured ice and began checking him for curses. Her eyes widened as her diagnostic charms erupted in a song of chimes.

It had to be the most unsubtle emotions-twisting curse she'd ever seen. Someone wanted that wizard _mad, _the frothing looking-for-a-fight-even-if-it-kills-me kind. Dark Arts were obvious and loud, you had to take precautions if you wanted to be discreet. This curse was pretty much a point-me spell. It took Bellatrix mere seconds to spot a blonde, short-haired witch staring at the man with unconcealed loathing. She was swaying, obviously drunk. Blood was leaking from her nose.

_Huh_. Amanda Wilkes. She'd been prefect, Hufflepuff, when Bellatrix had come to Hogwarts.

"Over here! I think it's Black!"

Two shouting young aurors were flying full speed for Bellatrix. They'd not spotted Wilkes yet.

"Get that man out," she said, recognizing one from Hogwarts. "I'll handle the crowd."

"Nice shield, Black." The woman's bright smile startled her. Bellatrix couldn't remember her name, just a background older Gryffindor.

Bellatrix's deafening curse blasted through the brawling mages stunning them briefly into inaction.

"Aurors are here!" Marshall's magic-amplified voice rang loud and chipper. "Please cast your most damning curses so we can fill up Azkaban!"

Bellatrix grabbed a swaying and cursing Wilkes, disarming her easily. "_You_ are coming with me." _A dark Hufflepuff._ It was too delightful to let the aurors get their hands on her.

Despite the too-short night, Bellatrix forgot her exhaustion as Bean popped into her bedroom with today's _Prophet_. She pushed off the bedcovers, eager to see if Voldemort had kept his word.

A whistle crossed Bellatrix's lips as she saw the front page.

Grandmother Irma's brother, Elmer Crabbe, had been _shot_. To the head. By a muggle. There was trouble with muggles near Derry, she discovered, something about borders (turns out, muggles had two Irelands, North and South, and that Derry was actually _Londonderry_. Stupid name). The Irish Crabbe branch lived right out of Derry, and the muggle army had knocked at Crabbe manor at sunset because of reports of stashed weapons. Old Crabbe had run out of the house, shouting, with his wand brandished. The muggles hadn't hesitated. Bellatrix avidly red on.

_Mr. Silvan Crabbe, eldest son of the late Elmer, was still under shock as he agreed to speak with us, clinging to his cane for support. His testimony is enlightening : 'We're registered as tax paying landowners, but with the troubles between muggles, that's not enough to be left alone. Our wards are old, but they're functional: muggles are supposed to be discouraged, distracted and turn away. Except it doesn't seem to work with these people. I fear it made it worse... When the armed muggles knocked, they were all worked up already. When we saw Father fall... we panicked.' Elmer's wife, Serena, cast a blasting curse that killed two of the muggles and incapacitated a third. Considering the situation, aurors have decided to not pursue any charges for violence against muggles, especially since the Crabbes seemed to take very seriously the risk to the Statute. 'We don't know what to do,' Mr. Crabbe admitted to us. 'They report everything, they'll know the men died here, and it's going to be on television.' _

_Obliviators and the Muggle management office confirmed with us at 2 AM that a suitable crash incident involving the armed muggles vehicles was orchestrated. The cover-up had to include radio records, military documents and the obliviation of twelve muggles in addition to those onsite, despite the obliviators arriving less than an hour after the tragedy. The auror office asks us to remind our readers that modern muggle technology, commonly in the possession of uniformed muggles (see pictures on left for reference), mean incidents of this kind must be avoided at all costs. _

_Experts determined the Crabbe wards to be alarmingly weak for a Manor this close to muggle settlements. Mr. Crabbe argued that in his grandfathers' days, no muggle lived within a mile of the manor. Reminded of ward law by the aurors, Mr. Crabbe admitted that the family could barely pay for the manor's upkeep, let alone modern muggle-repelling wards. When we pointed out that without wards, the obliviators could only limit the damage, not solve the situation, Mr. Crabbe became agitated._

_'What do you suppose I do? We've lived in this manor since the twelfth century! Our wards were cast in 1787 by our liege lord's warden. But the Ministry has banned all that. Do over-breeding muggles now have a right to kick us out? Mark my words, if that's how it is, we won't be the last to have to pack.'_

Ah, there it was : Junior begging to reinstate vassalage. How pathetic, though, to not have a single family member magically competent enough to cast your own wards.

A knock on her window had Bellatrix turn. An owl, one of those perfect conjured owls with a snake pattern on their belly feathers, had a piece of parchment tied to its leg. Bellatrix spelled the window open and grabbed the note.

_'Your move. To be honest, I would have expected Crabbe Senior to know how to cast a solid shield. The death was unfortunate.'_

Laughter bubbled in Bellatrix's chest, until it escaped from her lips in gleeful gasps. She couldn't stop and soon her door opened to reveal her mother.

Mother frowned sharply at the half-dressed witch in Bellatrix's double bed. "You mean all that sneering about marriage is just that you're lesbian? Just have her take polyjuice to impregnate you, and make sure that, whoever she is, she takes the Black name. We can weather such eccentricity." Druella's eyes narrowed. "Unless she's one of _them_."

Bellatrix blinked. "Mother, I'm not marrying Wilkes. She's here because -" _Oh, why did she bother? _"Did you read this?"

"Yes. The funeral's tomorrow evening, your grandmother wants us all there. Put on a solemn face, Bella, it's not worth the fight."

Bellatrix nodded. It would be a good excuse to get Cissy out of Hogwarts for an evening. Mother rolled her eyes one last time at Wilkes and left, muttering to herself.

A slurred voice rose up from the bed. "'not marrying you either, Black. Also, what the fuck?"

"Aurors would have locked you up." Bellatrix rummaged through her bag and handed Wilkes her wand. "You owe me a story."

"Right." Wilkes pushed herself out of bed with a wince. A few grooming spells later and she looked human again. "I'm a mediwitch. Or I was... Ambitious Hufflepuff all are, right? Unless you're Madam Bones, I guess. Got tired of the shit at Saint Mungo's. Spoke up about corruption and it's me they kicked out."

"The white-haired guy you tried to get killed is the one who sacked you?"

Wilkes sagged, shame flushing her cheeks. "Shouldn't have gotten shitfaced like that... Thank you." Her eyes roamed over Bellatrix's bedroom, the astronomy gear that hadn't been touched in years, the stuffed animals, the sloppy pile of books on dark arts, and (thank you, Rod) modern political history. "What's your opinion on werewolves, Black?"

"Wouldn't be half as scary if people bothered to learn proper magic. Fear of werewolves is used as a diversion by the Prophet to control us." Voldemort's words. Bellatrix personally thought werewolves were filthy beasts regardless, but Wilkes' expression made obvious that this wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"If werewolves were allowed to own property and set up their own wards, _they_'d be able to make sure they were no threat." Wilkes muttered heatedly. "At the hospital, I worked with werewolves who turn themselves in, accept to be part of studies and experiments in exchange for food and board. It's... It could be worse, I guess, but it's... It could be so much _better_!" She mustered a fake smile. "But hey, who's going to get too upset because money is being stolen from _werewolves_? Got any good spirits? I'm all out."

"Why'd you want to work with werewolves in the first place?" Wilkes was well-connected and a former prefect, there were plenty of cushy assignments for skilled medics.

"My eldest brother, he got bitten while travelling. He was adventurous... too much I guess. After that... he didn't want to inflict himself on the family. Grandmother and Father were harsh on him. He left for central Europe. I had hoped that if we found a cure here..." Her shrug was one of defeat. "Your cousin is in my baby brother's year, I think. With Evan Rosier Junior. Heard he's a gryff."

Bellatrix nodded. The Wilkes were an odd bunch, an even mix of Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and, like the Travers and Weasleys, they tended to have kids by the half-dozen. But Bellatrix wasn't interested in chatting about Sirius.

"I know a guy who might be able to find your brother." Voldemort hadn't hidden that he'd been negotiating with werewolves. He wanted weapons, he promised them a future in exchange. _Good politics_.

"You're being awfully nice, Black. What do you want?" It wasn't asked meanly, or even warily. On the contrary, Wilkes was looking at her with hope-filled eyes. "And you can call me Amanda if you want."

No doubt Wilkes was the kind of person who hugged a lot and trusted everyone who hadn't yet betrayed her. "Stay here today and show me some healing. It's my day off. And since you're in my house, you might as well call me Bella."

Light healing required years of biology and anatomy knowledge. Dark healing could drain you like nothing else. Mixing both was often the best compromise, one even the Ministry sanctioned, because sometimes you _didn't know_ how to fix something, and just had to will it better and hope your magic was up to the task.

"Don't worry, Amanda, being a mediwitch is dead useful, you'll always have something to barter."

The blonde sneered. "Tell that to the people at Saint Mungo's. But sure. Is it emergency healing you're curious about? Could come in useful in your line of work."

Bellatrix nodded eagerly. "I can conjure a body." After she had broken her own bone so her sisters could test their healing spells, Cissy had gone to have a chat with Madam Pomfrey, convinced there had to be an easier way. "Unconscious and unresponsive, obviously, but the heart pumps and wounds look like what you'd expect."

Wilkes' eyes widened. "Oh, wow. Well, that'll make things easier."

* * *

Bellatrix had known Elmer Crabbe only as that boring old man who would ramble for hours about those beasts he bred. Not even show them to her and her sisters, just _talk_. Endlessly. As for her grandmother Irma, the witch had done little else than criticize Bellatrix (and everyone else, including Elmer) as Bellatrix was growing up. Not badmouthing the Crabbes and wearing the most boring, modest black dress she owned, was therefore all Bellatrix decided she owed these people tonight.

The mood was somber, with more being drunk than said. Rarely had a manor felt so stuffy and stifling. Even the magical candles looked depressed. After an hour, fed up, Bellatrix snapped her fingers for one of the house elves and stepped up on a chair. Every head in the crowded reception room turned to her as a conjured silver spoon noisily struck the crystal glass.

"To letting muggles shoot one of ours down," she said with fake cheer, "and not doing anything about it."

"Bella," Narcissa hissed, tugging at her dress. "This is a _funeral_."

Grumbling began to mount in the various small groups. Grandma Irma raised her glass. "Cheers," she slurred. "That's who we have become! Perhaps it's a good thing that my brother isn't here to see it!"

"To bad wards," Bellatrix added. "But no fear! _The Ministry_ will pay for everything! Now all of us here know good wards must mesh with the rest of a manor's protective magics to last. So let's drink to revealing all of our protections to some merchants, who of course will never think of selling the information to highest bidder."

"Bella, what are you doing! Get down!"

"Why did the Crabbes register their Manor with the muggles in the first place?" The elderly Primrose Parkinson said, with that obnoxious loudness of the late-in-life deaf. "Why not just let the muggles believe there's nothing there? _I _don't pay any muggle taxes."

"Right, because it's _our_ fault, isn't it! Father got murdered but it's like _we _are on trial!" Silvan Crabbe wasn't _quite_ as drunk as his mother, but it was probably more a matter of mass than of liquid imbibed. He was restrained by a square woman not that much older than Bellatrix, doubtless his daughter.

"You live in the middle of a uninhabited Scottish moor, Madam, some of us aren't that fortunate."

"Do explain to me, Selwyn," Parkinson said impatiently, "I don't get it."

"_I_ will tell you, Ma'am!" Goyle's cheeks were flushed from more than firewhisky. "When muggles reach our grounds, they're supposed to see a ruined graveyard, something suitably eerie and terrifying. Years ago, the land was fields as far as the eye could see. Now they're practically building in our backyard. Their construction machines are _everywhere_. Those who came too close to us turned back, again and again, over a period of months, but one day, new muggles came along with the workers, with photo-cameras and dogs, talking them into working, convincing them it was safe. We had to hex their machines broken. Rumors started spreading about the grounds being haunted, and muggles started coming in from everywhere. It's like they _enjoyed_ the terror inspired by the wards. My wife even went to town, disguised as a muggle, to figure out why they wouldn't leave us alone. The muggle shop-women said the city wants to build on our land. They think they've got a right to it as it's _unowned_. As far as they know, it's empty land."

"Is there space enough in your manor for the Crabbes, Madam Parkinson?" Bellatrix cut in from her vantage place. "And for the Goyles too?"

She spotted Abraxas Malfoy then, and with him, Lord Voldemort, in his finest glamours. She hadn't seen them arrive. She raised her glass to them before stepping off the chair. "To vassalage! Our only hope." She almost had to shout to be heard over the rising din.

"Bellatrix, is it a riot you want? That pack over there looks ready to go tear through Derry."

Bellatrix blinked innocently at her sister. "And why would that be a bad thing?" _That pack_ was a small cluster of witches and wizards in their late teens and early twenties, including the Crabbe and Goyle heirs.

Narcissa shivered in distaste. "It's... I wish we'd leave. This is a sordid affair. Or... let us explore. The night is beautiful. Do you have your broom?"

Bellatrix was tempted, but she craned her neck to where Voldemort and Lord Malfoy had gone. _Was he making more promises, talking politics, or had those old men finally decided to do something?_

"Later maybe," she muttered.

"No, I have an exam. If we don't go now, I'll get someone to apparate me back to Hogwarts."

Was that Silvan Crabbe _kneeling_ before Malfoy? "Fine, go," Bellatrix said dismissively.

She missed the look of hurt on her sister's face. The way Narcissa's eyes narrowed at Voldemort before she stiffly hiked up her black robes and left.

Yes, Crabbe _was_ kneeling. Malfoy glowed as streaks of magic bound him and to the stocky man. Crabbe seemed to have replaced most of his drunkenness with grim determination. Soon Goyle followed suit, awkwardly but decidedly repeating the old formulas binding a vassal to their lord.

A hand on Bellatrix's arm had her stiffen. It pulsed with now familiar dark magic. She relaxed and turned towards its owner.

"Lord Black was telling me that to raise the same kind of wards he'd put on his manor, he'd require four months, and charge ten thousand galleons," Voldemort said, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "The Wizengamot will be hard pressed to condemn Abraxas unless they agree to fund wards for, assuming my sources are correct, twenty-one manors."

"You think the light wizards will let it go?"

"Oh no. I think this is the first step to fracturing the Wizengamot. I also think that our friends over there are a few words away from causing a whole lot of trouble for our poor obliviators."

Bellatrix grinned wickedly. Her smile faded, distracted by Voldemort's grip on her. "What's bothering you, my Lord?" His magic was angry, almost burning hers, yet she could feel it wasn't directed _at_ her.

"I'm tempted to direct our crowd of hotheads, to show them that they can take action intelligently, without endangering the statute."

His words had not answered her question, but his eyes were doing it in their stead. He was staring at Abraxas Malfoy, now surrounded by a cheering crowd, with a deceptively neutral expression. It seemed that Voldemort was fed up with hiding in the shadows.

"If aurors or obliviators come before you're done, just obliviate _them_. What are you afraid of?"

His grip became almost painful. Then he released her and smiled, his eyes flashing red. "Have I already told you, that after decades of being urged to be patient, you're wonderfully refreshing?"

Bellatrix tilted her neck playfully. "Feel free to tell me again."

* * *

**The next two chapters will conclude this arc. After that, we'll switch to Regulus. Reviews are the best of presents^^.**


	14. B: The Fires of Beltane

**These last weeks, the reason why I'd stopped writing hit me quite painfully. Long gone are the days I had the time to churn out a dozen pages a week. I hope the wait was worth it. The next chapter is written and will be up in a few days (predictably, again, I failed at estimating how long this whole arc would end up being^^).**

**Thanks to everyone reading. **Thank you Paul for your feedback as usual. And 'Guest' when you get there (seriously guys, get an account, I'd be so happy to reply to the reviews).

* * *

**May 1974 **

The ball of chained lightning exploded, blasting wall, floor and ceiling of the large sheep-shed. The tangled heap of frozen sheep collapsed in a deafening series of thuds.

Bolts struck Fenrir Greyback from all sides, rendering his door-like shield useless. He grunted as Bellatrix's magic flayed him.

_Such extraordinary tolerance to pain_. The werewolf should have be begging on his knees.

Greyback snarled an incantation. A ghostly skull with fist-sized fangs appeared inches before her face. Instinctive terror froze Bellatrix's muscles, soon replaced by fascination. _Ooh_. _Nice teeth! _Her shields shuddered as the cursed maw snapped around her, dispelling harmlessly.

She'd seen enough. _Incarcerous!_ The first rope shot forward, as bait, while the others snagged Greyback's limbs from behind. He slammed face-first against the dusty floor, spread-eagled.

Bellatrix tucked a flyaway curl behind her ear, laughing at the sight. "Say I win!"

"You win," Greyback groaned. "Not my favorite time of the month."

The beast was barely wincing._ How much did she have to squeeze the ropes to tear a scream from him? _ Greyback's broad chest heaved as he panted for air. _ Come on, just a little scream -_

"Enough!" A jet of golden light turned her ropes into water. "You haf made your point!"

In between her shifts as support staff for the Wimbourne Wasps, Bellatrix nowadays often met with Ladon Lestrange or former Durmstrang student Igor Karkakoff, and whichever aspiring Death Eater needed whipping into shape (Karkakoff and Ladon did most of the actual training; her job was to convince those limp flobberworms they _needed_ teaching.) Many of her opponents were older than her by a decade or more: Walden McNair, Antonin Dolohov, Nero Mulciber, Corban Yaxley, Uncle Brannon... There was something especially sweet about the look in a grown wizard's eyes when they found themselves helpless at her feet. They all had taken vows, bound by Lord Voldemort, that would trigger targeted memory charms were they to try to share, willingly or unwillingly, each others' names.

"You had him two weeks. Why's he barely casting at A-NEWTs level?" The only spell worth mentioning had been those creepy illusion-fangs. "Learn full-body or dome shields, Wolf. I liked the fangs."

"Acceptable NEWTs, huh?" Greyback's toothy grin was smug. He wore a working man's robes : sturdy and knee length, with thick brown pants underneath. His impressively muscles were on display where a shirt should have been, and his shaggy brown hair and collar beard were more mane than hair. He looked like a beast, and was unapologetic about it. He tipped his head at Karkakoff. "Thanks, Professor."

Bellatrix hadn't meant it as a compliment. "You _failed_ Defense?"

"I was bit right after my OWLs, never was allowed back to school. I found your guy," Greyback added, gesturing at the werewolf which had been hanging back at the edge of the shed during the duel.

Bellatrix peered at him. Blonde, weedy, staring like a spooked colt. She'd taken him for Greyback's servant, or lieutenant, or whatever.

"Demetrius Wilkes," Greyback introduced with an exaggerated flourish and that bare-fanged grin of his. "Skittish pup, but there's no wolf I can't find."

Bellatrix's eyes lit up. "You're Amanda's brother! Why didn't you say so right away!" She gave a mock bow to Karkakoff. "I'd help you clean up, gentlemen, but I have fancy Beltane plans. _Come_, Wilkes!"

She huffed and grabbed him when he just kept staring, eyes wide in alarm. She summoned one of the frozen sheep too, figuring Amanda might like it for dinner (the farm was 'abandoned', as in the old farmer had kindly killed himself after seeing his whole flock dead from sudden 'illness'. It had taken a helplessness hex to push him over the edge, and liberally cast apathy curses to keep other muggles from the property, but all in all it had been a job well done. And all that lamb... _delicious_.)

"Amanda!" Bellatrix shouted as she apparated at Ladon's. The corridors of his absurd glass tower were coated in mirrors, casting a headache's worth of shapes and lights on every surface. The older Lestrange had hired Wilkes as their mediwitch and potioneer (and serious dueling required _sooo_ many potions if Bellatrix wanted her opponents -and herself, when the opponents got lucky- to leave their sessions in a decent shape).

The blonde stepped out of the potions lab, her sleeves rolled back and a cloth binding her hair. "Yes –" Her eyes widened and began to shimmer as she spotted Bellatrix's companion. "Oh you finally found that asshole!"

"Amanda -" Werewolf Wilkes was smothered in one of Amanda's Hufflepuff hugs.

"I've got to prepare for Beltane," Bellatrix said, soon finding herself also entangled in Amanda. She was warm and soft and smelled of potions. And wouldn't let go until Bellatrix impatiently patted her on the back (for all that, in truth, she didn't mind hugs). "Don't cause trouble."

Had it been up to her, Bellatrix would have spent Beltane like last year's, with Voldemort, Ladon, Rod and Rabastan, hidden behind glamour-masks and testing ward-eating fire-spells on the houses of minor cousins of the Wizengamot's light-aligned. After Rod pointed out decades of useless Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers were also to blame for such widespread shoddy wards, they'd decided to pay some of their worst former instructors a visit. For the first time, they'd broken wands, and how glorious the panic following _that_ had been! But if people didn't want that, perhaps they should start taking magic seriously.

_'You'd think that since 1957, they'd have made teaching DADA part of the auror duties or found another workaround...' _Voldemort had muttered over the ashes of the house of that tight-ass creep Sullivan._ "It seems I owe you an apology for having had to put up with such pathetic characters."_

Something in his tone... _'You cast that jinx on the position, my Lord? What is it? How are you anchoring it?' _Bellatrix's eager questions had been answered by a mysterious smile._ '_

_The first step to weakening it would be to hire someone to whom Hogwarts means more than it does to me, the second is for that person to want to teach, and the third is for that person to be a great teacher. Something I would have gladly told the Headmaster, had he bothered to ask.'_

But this year, the fires would be lit at Malfoy Manor instead. Dark-aligned high society would pretend their luxurious debauchery was 'respect of the old ways'. Narcissa, now old enough to not need permission to leave the Hogwarts after classes, would be joining them, and she had _insisted_ Bellatrix come.

Bellatrix, her black curls pinned elegantly on her head with a thick charmed pin (_thank you, Cissy_), bit her lip as she opened her evening-wear wardrobe, in which a dozen dresses stared back at her. _What to wear..._

Bellatix froze as the whispers in her ear finally got to a subject of interest.

_"These people... you work for them?" _Werewolf Wilkes' voice was a distant echo, but Bellatrix could hear every word. She'd left a listening charm in the corridor and lab. Amanda hadn't concealed her distaste for some of the violence they got up to, and now that she had her brother back... Well, no werewolf would be allowed to steal their mediwitch.

_"They're... When Fenrir ambushed me in Poland, damn, Mandy, I thought he wanted me dead! He treated me okay, I guess, but that scary bastard doesn't care for laws, and little for people. That Black woman... Are you okay here, Amanda?"_

Amanda's voice was a similar echo, but it held a stubborn strength her brother's lacked. _"They treat me great. Saint Mungo's... they burned me out. They fired me like I was less than nothing. Bellatrix, Mr. Lestrange... They gave me a job, a purpose, and they found you!" _Amanda's sigh was thick with emotion._ "I missed you, you idiot. Jasper has been getting into all sort of fights in Slytherin for tearing into anybody who mouthes off about werewolves. How could you stop taking my owls!"_

_"Didn't want you to ruin your life for me."_

_"You bloody martyr. Well, I'm hanging out with all kinds of bad sorts now, so there's nothing left to ruin. If anyone gives you trouble, you go complain to Bella. She's the scary big sis I never had."_

Bellatrix smirked, a flash of fondness warming her chest. Silly how just being _liked_ made her want to hex anyone who'd upset Amanda. '_Careful, it's the Hufflepuff superpower,' _Rod had joked. _'You feel you owe them because they're just that nice.'_

Bellatrix apparated in front of Malfoy Manor in flowing dark purple robes that left her shoulders bare. The manor's grounds were lush hills, complete with a stream that ended in a wide pool surrounded by willows. Illusions of flames had turned the water red. A feast of oatcakes, spring vegetables and rhubarb cakes greeted them on wooden banquet tables. All around, the centenarian oaks and blossoming hawthorns had been charmed aflame. A whole goat cooked over a self-spinning spit while the outdoors orchestra played rousing dances. A hundred wizards and witches, and a gaggle of children, paraded in greens, reds and purples. Lucius Malfoy greeted everyone like a smug peacock, absurdly overdressed in his red velvet floor-length cloak and embroidered white robes fastened by thick silver buttons.

Bellatrix, as was her habit in such functions, sought out a dance partner. She had no mood for chit chat, and it was too early to get up to much fun (as in, people were still too sober to let her rile them into a brawl). Rod would tell her if any of the politically self-important crowd had said anything interesting.

"Stan!" she said happily, stealing roasted cabbage-chips from the Rod's brother's piled-up plate. She gave him no chance to so much as finish chewing and dragged him to the balefire. Rabastan rolled his eyes at her, but unlike Rod, wagging his mouth among the big and mighty wasn't his idea of fun either. It was barely past 8PM, the average dancer was about nine years old. The adults were all still enjoying the banquet, but Bellatrix didn't care.

"Your whole family's here," Rabastan whispered, a teasing glint to his eyes as he began to make her whirl.

Her shoulders stiffened as she spotted her parents, Orion and Walburga, her Black grandparents, Uncle Orion's parents and Aunt Cassiopeia. "If they come this way, pretend not to see."

The kids around them cheered as she and Rabastan showed off, but more than one adult spared them an annoyed glance: it was too early for dancing, and Bellatrix's dress spun a little too high and her cleavage was a little too deep for all the bending and spinning Rabastan was subjecting her to. As the music accelerated, she laughed breathlessly, her heart racing as she danced-ran to keep up with his long strides. It wasn't the same rush as dark arts, but it was close.

Fifteen minutes later, Bellatrix's face and chest glistened with sweat and she could feel Rabastan slowing. Others, in couples or groups, had joined them, emboldened by her disregard for stifling propriety.

"Drinks," Rabastan announced, turning them towards the banquet. Bellatrix's burning throat didn't let her refuse.

An annoyed frown dug into her forehead. Cissy was _late_. And now _Father_ was looking her way.

With Rabastan swallowing down root beer like a parched camel, Bellatrix scowled and resigned herself to go back to the dance floor alone. Desperate times, desperate measures. She turned to the gaggle of kids bouncing around. "Who wants to learn how to dance?"

Regina Flint, all of eight years old with a thick braid full of hawthorn blooms, walked up to her and imperiously grabbed her hands. Soon, a dozen sugar-drunk kids had circled them. A solid barrier of flesh between her and her relatives. _Perfect_.

A few minutes later, Bellatrix let go of a breathless Regina to gape.

_What had possessed Cissy to arrive in a white floor-length dress?_ Narcissa was striding past the gates, her blonde hair braided and her sheer bell-sleeves glimmering in the fire-light. Lucius Malfoy displaced himself to her side.

Bellatrix blinked. Alone, they both were comically overdressed, but _together -_. The red of Lucius' cloak matched the ribbons of Narcissa's bodice and together they glided to the center of the celebration.

Abraxas, beaming, opened his arms to greet them before turning to the whispering crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, pardon me for interrupting your night," his magically-enhanced voice boomed. "An announcement must be made : tonight Malfoy Manor will hold a hand-fasting."

_A what! _

Bellatrix was torn between picking her jaw off the floor and howling in laughter at the expression on Father's and Mother's faces.

Her little sister would soon get married to Lucius Malfoy._ Lucius Malfoy._

Her little sister was _getting married_. Engaged even before she'd sat her NEWTs. An old fashioned bound-in-magic handfasting that no one but the lovers could undo. And Cissy looked _thrilled_. Father's face was pasty white. Mother's fake smiles were so broad that Bellatrix suspected the woman would soon pull a muscle.

_In-laws to the powerful and rich Abraxas Malfoy, forever relegated to being the lesser branch._

Well, that had had to be what Cissy had wanted her here for. No need to stay any longer. And Narcissa was surrounded, so much that Bellatrix would've had to blast her way in to so much as congratulate her.

Not that she _wanted_ to. _Lucius Malfoy. Blah. _

Bellatrix scanned the garden, but she only found people with their wands tucked in their robes and their tongues wagging. Or people already all too interested in each others' bodies. Her gaze locked onto a familiar figure, clad in green robes with golden edges. As if alerted by a sixth sense, Voldemort turned to meet her gaze. He acknowledged her briefly but swiftly returned to his conversation with Abraxas Malfoy.

Of course, showing off to Lord Malfoy was _important_. Jaw clenched, Bellatrix gathered her magic and willed herself towards the gates.

"Leaving already? It's barely begun."

Bellatrix blinked at Cassiopeia. The woman was at the edge of the grounds, and looked to have been admiring the manor's wardsmithing.

Impulsively, Bellatrix smiled. "Want to burn something with me, Aunt Cassy?"

It had been years since Bellatrix had done more than barely acknowledge her aunt's presence at functions. But as satisfying as giving Aunt Cassy the cut had been, seeing the older witch did not twist her stomach anymore, and Bellatrix found herself curious. After all, Cassiopeia remained a formidable witch.

"Really, Bella? Is this a ploy of yours?"

"No, you... you do realize you were my very favorite, before you ruined it? We had fun, when you wanted us to."

Bellatrix _had_ expected the woman to flinch, she hadn't expected the actual hurt in her gray eyes. It was swiftly replaced by an assessing gaze. "I hope you have something more interesting in mind than mundane fire."

"I was told there used to be a fire pit in Diagon Alley, not far from Ollivanders', before they covered up the place with shops." Bellatrix extended her arm."Let us light it once more."

Diagon Alley was calm in the evenings and that night it was calmer still, with only Graves' pub still open. Miniature flames danced at the center of the dining tables. _Such a travesty. Look at all those muggles and halfbloods, drinking at the pub tonight of all nights, dismissing Beltane as just another quaint relic of the past._

"The veil is thin on Beltane," Cassiopeia softly said as they walked. "Family once used the fires to call children lost too early, for a last goodbye. When I was a girl, I recall Mother trying to summon her little brother, but her own father came instead. He'd died recently, and violently, see? He was still somewhat tethered to the land of the living."

Bellatrix bit her lip thoughtfully, a new plan forming in her mind.

Soon, clad in notice-me-nots, their hair and faces covered in silver masks as an extra precaution, Bellatrix, Cassiopeia, the Wilkes and Greyback stood in front of _Asteria's Calligraphy _and Clarke's tea and coffee bodega.

Greyback hadn't been planned on. But Amanda had found it rude that none of them had thought to care of the wolf's plans for Beltane and had taken it upon herself to invite him, so he had been having dinner with her and her brother when she'd received Bellatrix's summons. _Hufflepuffs_.

Wand in hand, Bellatrix traced a semi-circle ten yards across behind them and willed the area wrapped in illusion. She focused on her surrounding, making them into an anchor, something unalterable in time. Her heart hammered as dark magic bled from her fingers, bending reality to her will. "These will hold thirty minutes or so." It was 10:13 PM and anyone looking in would see (and hear, and smell) this part of the street as it had been at 10:13 PM, no matter what happened inside.

"What do you want from me?" Greyback sounded gloomily aware that his skill and power levels were all too average.

_Time to see if that wolf was worth anything._ "With light magic, practice and the real thing are not much different, but dark magic? You don't know what you can do until you truly mean it. What you lack in power, you can make up with purpose." She smiled, hoping he'd not disappoint. "Be ready to give me chaos. _Mean_ it."

Eyes alight, Greyback nodded, his knuckles fiercely gripping his wand, that new wand Voldemort had found him. _Werewolves were so easy to buy. _

"Demetrius and I will summon the wares out of the shops while you three do your thing." Amanda went stern at Bella's expression. "Come on, Bella, these are working people. I'm not ruining their lives."

"But _what for_?" Werewolves Wilkes spluttered. "Why are we doing this?"

Bellatrix's eyes glowed dangerously as she smiled at him. Truth was, it was about _magic_, the rush of dark arts, about showing all those uppity _proper_ witches and wizards, all those people who'd sneered down at Bellatrix for being a wild child, for not following the rules. Voldemort claimed differently, coating it in politics for his allies, but Bellatrix knew he was like her, only he also wanted people to bow to him, whereas she was fine with doing things for herself and hexing those who got in her way.

With war came freedom and magic and power. And so they were sparking a war.

But Amanda was Hufflepuff and sensitive. She needed other reasons, and so Bellatrix deigned answer her wolf brother. "People have been dying, and the Prophet has been covering it up. Beltane makes ghosts easier to summon, so the truth won't be hidden anymore."

After Old Crabbe had been shot, a number of wizards and witches had taken it upon themselves to push back against muggles, and loosen the Statute's choke-hold. Few were important, most were poor, many weren't even pureblood, all were united in the certainty they deserved _better_. For centuries wizards had taken what they wanted, gone where they wanted, and now, suddenly, there were all these stifling _laws_. What was the point of having magic if you had to leave everything to the oblivious animals crawling all over the Isles? If you couldn't even stop them from ruining forests and rivers with their filthy industries? Obliviators, backed-up up by aurors had begun striking hard (for all that some were sympathetic and never caught the 'offenders'). Sometimes, things had gotten messy.

Let's just say that not _that_ many witches and wizards were moronic enough to crash to their deaths in stolen muggle vehicles. Or blow themselves up because they'd failed to realize burning down a petrol station wasn't the greatest idea. To Bellatrix's knowledge, at least seven deaths had been swept under the rug by their spineless Ministry. You'd think they'd at least _admit_ to enforcing their darling Statute.

_Full of excuses. Cowards. Always a reason to slink back. To never do anything but slump in defeat or wag their tongues angrily. _

Bitter fury rose easily in Bellatrix's throat and she did nothing to contain it. Tonight, she was eager to try something she had only ever tried in Voldemort's presence, and on a _much_ smaller scale.

_How dare they discredit the old rituals. How dare they make magic something tame, something weak. Beltane was about life and passion and fire._ _How dare they cover the balefire pit with a shop that sells coffee beans in muggle wrappings. _

It wasn't difficult, to empty her mind of anything but the desire to destroy.

Fiendfyre burst forth from her hands, tentacles of living flames. _Eat this_, she willed it, _or eat nothing. _She fed its hunger with hers, and guided it to the shop's wards. Wards designed against thieves, against the elements and magical accidents. Not for the ravenous cursed flames blasting forth from Bellatrix's wand. The fiendfyre howled as it consumed wards and stone, wood and brick, and everything left inside. Not even metal resisted its bite. In minutes, the shops crumbled into ashes. The floor collapsed deep into the ground, revealing buried magical ground.

The fiendfyre dived into it, eager to _consume_. This time, Bellatrix held it back. Her arms shook as it howled, writhing against her hold, desperate for freedom as the lack of fuel forced it to consume itself. It twisted, attempting to dive for other sources of magic : the wards Bellatrix had cast to hide them from the rest of the Alley, and the five witches and wizards inside them.

Greyback growled, his own magic roaring forward, ripping at the fiendfyre to stifle it. His dispel was based on instinctive fear, blunt and coarse. But Greyback's instinct was strong, and the dark fire dimmed, howling in fury.

"You are mine! You obey me!" Bellatrix shouted at the wild magic.

She shuddered with exertion, but there was no fear. She had been learning from the best for four years now. Her sweat tasted salty on her grinning lips as magic coursed through her, heightening her every sense. It was like breathing lightning, like plunging in ice cold water, like flying through a windstorm. It hurt, but in a glorious way that made her feel _alive_. The fire slowly died.

Next to her, Cassiopeia had been chanting a summons. The old witch had made information and blackmail her weapon of choice, a choice rooted in her passion for people: understanding how they worked, why they acted as they did, and how to pull their strings. Her darkness was rooted in curiosity, in her hunger to _know_, and this Beltane, she called out to those who hadn't entirely left, her voice echoing past the thinned veil.

Bellatrix smiled as the air began to shimmer around them. Aunt Cassy smiled back, and Bellatrix could see that powering her spell was also hunger for this, _them_. Cassiopeia regretted pushing her niece too far now that the winds of power had shifted in Bellatrix's favor. _Something Bellatrix was all to happy to use._

Behind them, Amanda and her brother stood before the miniaturized pile of furniture and wares that had filled the two burned down shops. In front of them, more than half of the ancient fire-pit was exposed to the skies once more.

Slowly, the mist took shape and faces; faces deformed by fear, shock and denial. The floated away, their whimpers growing into unearthly screams as they passed Bellatrix's wards as if they didn't exist.

Alarmed shouts began ringing out from Graves' pub.

Triumphant laughter left Bellatrix's lips. Her altered, magic-enhanced voice echoed through the Alley, a promise of more pain to come. "Have an enchanted Beltane!"

"Right! Aurors and the spirit division will be here within minutes," Amanda said, grabbing Bellatrix's arm as her temporary wards unraveled. "Let's go."

They apparated back to Lestrange Manor. Bellatrix wished she could leave a listening spell, or better yet, charm a mirror to _see_, but aurors had an arsenal of spells to check for such monitoring. She couldn't wait for the day she wouldn't have to hide anymore.

A chill sent a shiver up her spine. She belatedly realized that one of the spirits had clung to her. A round-faced man of indeterminate age. "What's up with _you_?"

It opened its mouth. Otherworldly shrieks grated against Bellatrix's ears. "The Nautilus was mine! I took the fall for the others. Seven years they gave me. For not letting people die after those World War II bombs fell. I couldn't... The dementors... I _couldn't_." The face twisted into something unrecognizable, something that was pure hate. "It was you. YOU!"

The chill became ice, sucking all air out of her lungs. All heat out of her cells. Darkness filled her vision. She fell backwards, gasping for air that wasn't coming.

Suddenly, the ghost vanished. Bellatrix pushed herself upright with a ragged gasp. Cassiopeia lowered her wand. "Seems the Prophet forgot to mention one of the Nautilus muggles died in Azkaban..." the gray-haired witch mused.

Amanda was staring hard at Bellatrix. "That was _you_? It was muggle _war bombs_ ?" There was something in her eyes. Something Bellatrix didn't like at all.

Bellatrix swiftly raised her wand. _Obliviate! _She cast wordlessly. "_Somnus,_" she snapped. The blonde slumped, the diagnosis spell she'd been casting on Bellatrix fizzling out.

"What's wrong with you!" Demetrius exclaimed. "She- " He slumped, harder than Amanda had, because Bellatrix cared nothing for _him_. And she hexed Greyback too, for good measure.

"I'll say a ghost followed us and the spell I used to banish it was illegal, and we didn't want to put them in the position of being witnesses." Cassiopeia smiled faintly. "You're worried about the girl hating you."

Bellatrix's hands shook. She glowered at Aunt Cassy. _Just like her, to pounce the second she sensed weakness -_

But Cassiopeia's smile was oddly soft. "I'll help you with them," she whispered. "This... this whole night, was _beautiful_ magic. I would never have dared to try to tame fiendfyre."

Bellatrix didn't trust the sudden warmth in her chest, because people like Cassiopeia _didn't_ change, but the child she had been crowed happily at her great aunt's praise, and Bellatrix convinced herself it was fine, as long as she had things under control.

She crashed asleep before midnight, drained, and eager for the next day's _Prophet_.

* * *

"You impulsive idiot!"

Bellatrix stiffened at Voldemort's tone._ How dare he. _She was wearing her Wasps support staff uniform. He'd intercepted her on the way to work, right out of Edinburgh Stadium. There was a photo-shoot to be had (Ludo Bagman was more popular than ever) and that meant lots of wards and muggle herding to get some nice rooftop pictures without endangering the Statute (conjuring a flock of pigeons to shit on muggles until they scattered had been a hoot).

"Diagon Alley! Why not the Ministry itself! They'd all been making fools of themselves, bending over backwards to stay in denial, and you ruin it by declaring war! They've made Bulstrode resign and are replacing him by Bartemius Crouch! Dumbledore accused _me_."

_You'd think Voldemort would be smug about that._ "Good, Crouch and Dumbles will send people after us. We'll have people to fight. We'll stop pretending. What are you upset about? Nobody _died_."

An exasperated hiss left Voldemort's lips. "Abraxas -"

_Of course,_ _Malfoy_. "You ever get tired of kissing his robes? I don't care what he promised you if you played the politics game with him, no half-blood wins at politics. There's no space at the top. We're going to have to _make_ it."

A spell punched into her protections. Those temporary runes she clad herself in every morning, runes _he_ had taught her. Fury blazed in Voldemort's eyes and his mouth was twisted in a snarl as he pointed his wand at her.

She left her own wand in her pocket. If he hexed her now, he would break her in half. And she was pretty sure he didn't _want_ to. She could feel bruises blossoming on her legs and chest, from the force of his blow.

She crossed her arms, chin raised in challenge. "What, scared you'd lose? You want people to bow, then give them something to bow about! You -"

Magical silence stole her words. She swallowed, intimidated despite herself by the dark threat in Voldemort's eyes. The unnatural crimson of his irises shone through despite his glamour. _What if she'd made him too angry? What if he couldn't control himself?_ Like a thousand tiny hooks, his magic chafed against hers. She still hadn't encountered anybody else wrapped in dark magic like a cloak. And that's what was so infuriating : he had so much _potential_.

"You have no grasp of _consequences,_" he snarled.

She blinked when he disapparated. _Rude_.

Fine, if he wanted to sulk like a child, she would let him. He knew where to find her.

* * *

At first she barely noticed it. She felt tired. She blamed her odd work hours. The warding, the flying, everything seemed to take more out of her. Perhaps she just needed a holiday.

The first stirrings of panic begun a couple of weeks after Beltane, when Rabastan and Rod had almost skewered her. She'd had to pour in _everything_, and everything had been barely enough. Something was very wrong with her magic.

"Amanda, find something. There's got to be _something_."

"Patience." Amanda's dicta-quill scribbled furiously as the blonde tested samples of Bellatrix's hair, skin and blood with various potions. "I've ruled out all known magic illnesses, I'm getting nothing on curses..."

"My blood feels slow and thick. I doesn't _look_ thick. Why does it feel -" Bellatrix stopped her tirade at the look in Amanda's eyes. "_What_? Have you figured it out?"

Bellatrix went cold when, a few days later, Amanda diagnosed her with a blood curse. "It's ancient, Bella. Those things are tied to family magic: your relatives must know of it. An enemy must have cast it generations back, although why it flared up _now_... Pick whoever you trust most and ask."

_Trust. _What a laughable notion. Bellatrix forced herself to rest and save up her strength. It wasn't hard to ambush her beloved Uncle, _Lord Black_, on his way home from Odgen's Spirits,and legilimize him.

Instead of a whirlwind of thoughts and memories, Bellatrix was blinded by sudden light and shoved back. She gasped, feeling her magic lock down. "What -" she spluttered.

Orion looked unimpressed. "It's too much to ask that you'd just _ask_, like a civilized witch?"

"What is this? Why is my magic not working!"

"Because I'm family." He hadn't blinked. He _knew_. "And you must be loyal to family. Come, let us sit down and talk, like the adults we are."

Bellatrix grit her teeth and followed him to Grimmauld Place. She cared little for Uncle Orion. He'd been just another adult she'd never managed to impress, and he'd not given her reason to care to try harder. But where Cygnus and Walburga were hotblooded whirlwinds, Lord Black rarely lost his cool.

"Kreacher, tell Cassiopeia to come. Tell her Bellatrix is here."

The look on Aunt Cassy's face when Orion brought her up to speed with infuriating calmness convinced Bellatrix the older witch had had nothing to do with it.

"You activated the Black curse in Bella?" Cassiopeia exclaimed. "_Why_?"

Because that's what it was, a curse cast by a fourteenth century Lord and Lady Black on _their own_ heirs. Trust the Blacks to cast a blood curse on _themselves_. A curse of loyalty, that fed on your magic to enforce its bounds.

"Andromeda is dead to us. Narcissa's engagement is a theft, not an alliance, and that fool girl doesn't seem to care. Regulus lacks the power and the character to be more than a follower." His jaw clenched. "Sirius is... _difficult_. This house must not be allowed to fall apart. If you want the curse to slumber once more, Bella, you will comply."

"How?" Bellatrix asked tonelessly. She... thoughts of revenge seemed to vanish before they took hold. Instead something raw and helpless tightened her muscles. _It wasn't fair!_

"By marrying into a proper family. One that solidifies our position. By swearing an oath to come to our aid and make decisions on what is best for the Black line."

_What!_ Bellatrix spluttered, her magic flaring and... sputtering out. Her breath hitched and for the first time in a long time, she had to blink rising tears out of her eyes.

"What do you want from _me_, Lord Black?" Cassiopeia said tightly. "I wish I had been informed of this."

"You only disapprove because you're scared of the girl." _Good_. Orion caught Bellatrix's satisfaction. Condescension pooled in his gray eyes. "What do you think you'd be without the Black name? With no manor and only your salary to live on? It's time you understand that your position and that of this house are entwined. Cassiopeia, you're here to educate her on the curse, to make her understand that rebellion is futile. Since she seems to have a modicum of respect for _your_ expertise."

* * *

**Orion's Black last ditch effort to regain control over his family. I almost pity him.**


	15. B: Forever Marked

**I can't in good conscience pretend this chapter is T-rated, so M it is.**

* * *

**June 1974**

"Merlin's beard, why would you want to marry me?"

"You're hardly a horrible match." The only 'proper' match Bellatrix could bring herself to consent to.

Rodolphus rolled his eyes. They were outside one of their training areas, the sheep-shed Bellatrix had first dueled with Greyback in. Only a couple of frozen solid to-be-eaten sheep still remained in the haphazard pile in the far-right corner.

"I mean why would _you_ want to marry me?"

"We're a good team. We... things are simple between us."

"Yes." Rod said, now more serious. "I trust you too, and I don't say that lightly. But Bella... _marriage_?"

"Why, who'd you want to marry?"

"Well... For one, I didn't plan to marry for another decade at least. Then I figured I'd charm a hot ambitious witch ten years my junior, in awe of my maturity and life experience." He grinned. "I mean, you're hot and ambitious too, just... On good days, you look _fond_ of me. You don't quite pet me and say 'good dog', but -"

Bellatrix had been clasping her hands, her throat dry and her insides twisted from all _this_. His teasing loosened something. She punched his shoulder, hard.

"Ow!" Rodolphus exclaimed. "Merlin, you add _so much_ romance to my life." His insolent smile fell. "You want kids with me?"

"No! Not... not _now_." Not _ever_.

The relief in Rod's eyes mirrored hers. "Uh... shouldn't we see each other before?"

_What?_ "See-"

"Naked." He stood stoic and solemn, but his cheeks glowed pink. "I can't remember you with anyone, ever, actually."

"I know how it works, thank you. I can't see how adding a man would be better than what I can do by myself. But well, perhaps you'll surprise me."

Rod shut his eyes, as if wracked by spasms. He was struggling not to laugh. "So. Much. Romance," he mouthed. All mirth vanished from his face as he took a good look at her. He didn't bother to hide his concern. Bellatrix swallowed back a scream, an urge to blow up _something_.

"Bella, I'll marry you. I mean, we can separate if we end up not standing each other... But only if you tell me why."

She took a shuddering breath. "My favorite curse is _Silencio_"

"No, it's _Incarcerous_."

"_Obviously_. My favorite curse is _Silencio_."

Problem with curses, and blood ones, was that informing someone of them could be tricky. Amanda had found out herself, but Bellatrix had had to bind the witch to silence to be able to control the foreign urge to wipe the witch's memory entirely.

"My favorite pastime is genealogy," she added.

_Morgana, that man looked constipated when he thought too hard._

The seconds were painfully long until he spoke again. "You _can't_ tell me."

_Finally_. She smiled extra-sweetly. "You're the smartest man I know, Rod."

He scowled at her sarcasm. He then leaned backwards against the shed, his narrowed eyes far away. "The wedding will fix it?"

Sharp giggles bubbled out of Bellatrix's throat. "I just _love_ the sound of Mrs. Lestrange. The idea of your family magic absorbing mine."

She could see understanding fill his eyes. She'd read _everything_, she'd asked all the questions. She had an ally in Cassiopeia because Aunt Cassy wanted to be on Bellatrix's good side. Bellatrix had significantly more power than Rod : no matter the name they chose to use in public, or how inheritance would be decided, the Black magic would absorb the Lestrange one during their vows. This... this _vassalage _Lord Black had forced her into drained her magic but did not decrease her overall power levels.

But there were ways of blocking one's magic temporarily. Ways taught to mediwitches. And the moment Bellatrix became magically a Lestrange, the Black blood curse would loosen its hold.

It would mean marrying as barely more than a muggle. A necessary price for freedom.

She'd told no one else of her plan. As far as Cassiopeia was concerned, Bellatrix had decided to put off finding a solution. Not that marriage had been her first choice. But even with her decent occlumency skills, she couldn't seem to be able to contemplate much else. She couldn't even muster much anger at Lord Black, only annoyance at what it meant for her. Her minds twisted itself into knots to avoid thoughts of vengeance, to find everyone excuses. _Enforced loyalty. _The curse affected her very thoughts, no wonder it ate up half her magic. Bellatrix figured the Blacks had stopped using it when they'd realized they were making their kids functionally squibs.

"Fine," Rodolphus finally said. "I'd rather marry you than see you... diminished by whatever this is. I have nothing to lose. Mother will be pleased. You should hear her, moaning about her two stubborn bachelor sons."

Rod stuck out his chin and pointed at it. Bellatrix placed a purposefully slobbery kiss on it, hiding her gratitude behind a cheeky grin.

"Will you invite Lord Voldemort? 'Stan told me he said you had to decide where your loyalties lie, and that he'd made it clear the subject was not to be brought up again."

Bellatrix stiffened, her lips thinning.

"I'm asking because nobody would have been shocked to see the two of you get together."

Nobody talked to her like Rod. Not even Cissy. Meda had once, but that had been long ago. That... probably was an argument _in favor_ of marrying Rod, actually.

She wasn't sixteen anymore. Now she thought of Voldemort as older rather than just _old. _Only_,_ it was his magic, his admiration she craved. The rest... Narcissa had always made it sound fun, the seduction, the sex. Cissy was restrained in her letters, out of respect for her future husband, but Bellatrix was _quite_ aware those two had fun. Bellatrix sometimes fantasized about Voldemort desiring her, about the power she would hold over him were he so entranced, but when she actually was in his presence, she was content with his attention, and with the magic he showed her.

They hadn't spoken since Beltane, almost two months before. He was doubtless expecting _her_ to crawl to _him_. _Ha_. People like him, like Aunt Cassy, lost all respect for those who gave in to their whims. And people like Lord Voldemort crushed you when you lost their respect. As infuriating as it was, Bellatrix had to be patient.

* * *

**July 1974**

Duncan McMillian and Evander Ross came from loving, protective families. When he thought of 'danger', Evander thought of the time he'd realized rule breaking would not fly despite Prof. McGonagall's mam being his great aunt. Duncan was of the same mind : disappointing loved ones was _the worst. _Physical danger wasn't something they much pondered, ever. After all, magic fixed most ills and even broken bones could be fixed overnight.

The boys were Gryffindor, thirteen years old, and tired of being treated like little kids during the Summer break. They thought of nothing of going out to play hide and seek during the full moon. Teenage recklessness, a dash of rebellion and thirst for adventure. And maybe the fact no adult had taken the time to sit them down and explain exactly what had been going on while they had been sheltered at Hogwarts. The boys knew well the hills around home: there wasn't a road for miles and the most exciting thing they could hope to run into was an escaped sheep.

The McMillians were a light-aligned great house, one that did not disown its squibs and did not oppose the occasional mixed marriage. But they treated lycanthropy like a moral flaw, like something that befell those who associated with the wrong crowd. They did not advocate for the persecution of werewolves, but they opposed initiatives to help. The Ross, a minor mixed-blood family, distinguished for producing skilled artisans, had no political voice. They were just to be a warning to Albus Dumbledore, because everyone knew he had a soft spot for Minerva McGonagall, born of Antonia Ross and a muggle farmer.

Fenrir Greyback believed that if enough people became werewolves, those in power would be hard pressed to deny them person status. If important mages and their kids started being bitten, things would change. Today, the high and mighty (and many less high and mighty) likened a bite to a death sentence, but really, it was so because _they_ decided to make it so. Without the social stigma, lycanthropy didn't have to be such a curse. Greyback had long ago embraced his wolf.

Tonight the wolf hunted, his mind empty but for the awareness of _prey _as his powerful legs swallowed the distance between him an the oblivious boys. A golden chain glinted around his massive neck. A portkey Bellatrix Black had given him, that had activated the moment he had transformed.

Two days before, the Wasps had come to Scotland, for a friendly match with former Hogwarts players who had turned down Quidditch positions to pursue other careers. It had been quite a sight, these twenty-somethings from the four houses flying together against the professionals. That's where Bellatrix had overheard the kids making their summer plans, and tonight's sleepover.

Despite Lord Voldemort's pretty words, Greyback had felt collared these last few years. There was always a _reason_ to play nice. To wait. Truth was, few of the high and mighty had a true stomach for violence : violence compromised their comfort and position. Bellatrix had no stomach problems. Tonight, she was Greyback's favorite.

The werewolf's snarls drowned the boys' screams. Dripping yellowed fangs sunk into Duncan's tender flesh, his ears singing at the boy's screams. Yards ahead, Evander clambered up a tree, eyes wild with terror. _Silly little prey_. He was skinnier than Duncan, bones cracked as Greyback snagged his leg.

Bellatrix, using a conjured owl as her eyes, activated the second portkey she'd given Greyback before he could tear the boy apart, transporting the werewolf to the warded barn he'd finish his night in. Clad in a mask and disillusionment charms, she made both unconscious kids float and grabbed them by their shirts.

Blood soaked through the cloth and onto her hands and arms as she apparated them at Saint Mungo's, sending shivers of disgust and excitement up her arms.

She'd behaved for _three_ months. Three months to give Voldemort a chance to explain what exactly was the problem with attacking Diagon Alley. Three months of being ignored. _Enough_.

She smiled at the panic bleeding from the _Prophet_ articles the next day. Minister Jenkins' credibility was at its lowest. Bellatrix's grin broadened as Dumbledore made a statement on the wireless about Greyback, and pointed out, again, that this 'Lord Voldemort' was rumored to have associations with him. _Good old Headmaster, daring to speak up in a world where people cowered in shadows. _

It had been a while, since they'd attacked _wizards_. Last Beltane to be precise, (this Beltane didn't count, nobody had been _truly_ hurt), and people had started feeling safe again. Now the not-rich and not-magically talented of Britain were painfully aware once more of how shitty their wards were. And of how their addresses were pretty much publicly available if they lived in Ministry-approved wizard-built houses.

With fierce werewolves now on the prowl... Finding comfy, hidden, muggle houses to live in, like wizards had traditionally done until the eighteenth century, was suddenly a _very_ attractive option.

Crouch declared he was organizing a squad to round up all known werewolves. But honestly, who entrusted their security to the Ministry of Magic since Grindewald? A _teacher_ had had to step in. Yes, Albus Dumbledore was extraordinary, but you could spin it how you wanted, it still looked _bad_. (And now Britain's werewolves were _pissed_, angry enough to listen to Greyback who promised them revenge and wands. _Tit for tat_, Bellatrix didn't stiff her allies.)

_Finally_, things were moving again. It distracted Bellatrix from the fact that all but the mildest dark spells left her feeling dizzy. From the fact she'd be wed soon, on the last Wednesday of August.

Despite the whispering about the short engagement, Orion Black hadn't wanted to delay. It seemed he didn't trust the blood curse fully. He thought he had her cornered. _The fool._

* * *

**August 1974**

Natural light filled the music room of the Westham Black Manor. The piano Cissy still occasionally played was in a corner, but the rest had been moved so that Bellatrix could get ready. The Manor's grounds were too small for a reception, the wedding would take place on the roof, charmed into a flat terrace for the occasion.

Narcissa spelled the silver ribbons in Bellatrix's hair and adjusted the black lacework across her plunging neckline. The dress was white, hugging her chest and hips then fluidly falling in loose lace-edged waves down to her feet. The gown was slit: Bellatrix could not have worn something that forbade her brooms or restrained her movements.

The sisters were silent. There was little to say. Bellatrix liked Rod. She'd be able to control him if he stopped being likable. Narcissa knew something had transpired, but as Bellatrix had made it clear that she blamed Cissy in part, for all but eloping with Malfoy, they both pretended things were _fine_.

An odd emptiness filled Bellatrix. For two weeks, she'd been sleeping with goblin-made armbands that sucked all magic out of her. After two days, she'd had to stop going to work (her colleagues had winked and gushed about her wedding, and she'd struggled not to hex them right there). Three days ago, she'd stopped wearing the armbands. Rod was no squib: she didn't need to be _entirely_ drained. Amanda had anyway promised it would take at least a week for her magic to get back to its natural levels.

Amanda thought the armbands were one of the many objects that had ended up in the Black vaults over the centuries. Rod had gotten himself admitted to Saint Mungo's for curse damage (a hex that made random body parts switch every time that he cast a spell or that his magic reacted to a spell being cast on him.) The plan had been to hit him with something that would have required his magic to be briefly bound so that the medimages could do their job. Coming in to visit her poor fiancé, stealing the armbands, and replacing them by fakes had been child's play (the curse symptoms disappeared as expected, no one was the wiser). The armbands weren't used every day at the hospital, not nearly, so Bellatrix would be able to return them by the time she became a suspect. She might even tell the truth. A smile quirked her lips as she pictured Uncle Orion's face. Blood curses on your own kin didn't make you popular, even among the dark-aligned.

Suddenly, Narcissa stilled, frozen in mid-movement. A lock of blonde hair hung in an impossible position, as if it had been petrified. Bellatrix bolted upright in a room where everything had been frozen in time.

She saw him in the mirror, a swirl of dark robes. His fingers grasped her bare shoulders before she could turn. She shivered at the darkness pulsing under his skin. Her temper flared at his dramatic entrance and utter disrespect for her personal space, yet she was thrilled to see him. Finally, he'd come to _her_. After he'd ignored her after Greyback's attack, she'd started to despair.

"Am I not worthy of your guest list, Bella?" His breath was hot on her neck.

"I like it better when you take what you want instead of waiting for permission." Her teasing smile froze as she gazed upon Narcissa, still as statue, her eyes dull and unseeing. "Let her go," she whispered. "I'll send her away."

He vanished, but his touch stayed. Time flowed through the room once more. Narcissa blinked at seeing Bellatrix standing.

"We're done, Cissy. Please leave for a while."

Cissy frowned. "Did you just obliviate me? Did I say something?"

Bellatrix felt a flash of annoyance towards Voldemort. His invisible hand was tight next to her neck, the creases it made on her skin hidden under her hair. "I need some time to myself, to be in the right mood."

Eyes still tight, Narcissa squeezed her arm. "If something's wrong, I'm counting on you to tell me." She smiled, that true smile that she saved for very few, and that very few people gave Bellatrix. "You're beautiful, Bella."

Bellatrix weakly smiled back.

Dark eyes stared back at her in the mirror the second Narcissa shut the door. Voldemort's free hand slid to her stomach.

His eyes narrowed. "I almost expected you pregnant."

Laughter, a touch hysterical, burst out of her lips. "Oh, you know me _so well_, my Lord!"

He let her stomach go, but not her shoulder. He didn't move back. "Then why this wedding?"

"Get rid of that face," she muttered, twisting against his grip so she'd face him. He still didn't move. She had to tilt her head to look at him. Her elbows brushed his chest.

The dark haired man with the classical handsome profile left place to pale rough skin and slanted red eyes. It was right there, at the edge of her mind, the telltale grasping of legilimency.

Fury rose in her, hot and flustered and full of loathing for the blood curse she could not speak of. Voldemort frowned, his lips inches from her forehead, and she realized that her mind was shut off from him. Even he could not casually foil ancestral magics.

She sucked in a breath, swaying as he pushed harder. The blood curse, fed by her trapped magic, lashed out. Only, there was little magic to use, and who knew what would happen if the curse used too much -

"_No!_" she whispered furiously, tugging _back_. This was _her_ magic! _How dare this curse use her like – _

Voldemort's own magic flared, his grip tightening as the assault tore a surprised gasp from his lips. She stumbled, her chest pressed against his.

A new shiver coursed through her as their magics clashed. Hers was much weaker, slippery like a grasping mist : even at her best, she was not so steeped in dark arts that her magic was a force of its own. His darkness surrounded her like a mantle of electric fire. She could barely breathe. Yet she didn't pull back, too _curious_, too exhilarated. It chafed, threatening to absorb her. It was invasively close.

But so was her bare thigh, which had slipped out of the slit of her gown, and somehow ended between his legs. His right hand slid from her shoulder to the small of her back, a grip different than a mentor's possessiveness.

She met his eyes and found them all too focused on her. Impulsively, she moved her leg and shifted his robes just enough. "After, I'll be married, it'll be quite improper," she breathed.

The wedding dress, the ribbons in her styled hair, had felt like a costume, yet now, as he lifted her off the ground through muscle and magic, his mouth against her neck, the thrill sent fire through her limbs.

She gasped, arching her back as he slid inside her. It had been fast, too fast for her to be fully ready. But it was _him_, his breathing ragged in the crook of her neck, his overpowering magic somehow stilled, cradling her. Her hand grasped the folds of his robes while the other roamed over his face and head, those disturbing, magnificent features. Her teeth were against his shoulder. She bit him through the cloth of his robes, willing his attention on _her_, and not just the sensations her body was offering him.

He hissed in pain and for a second she thought he might shove her off and hex her. "I don't enjoy pain, Bella."

"I just might," Bellatrix managed, a rumbling moan building in her throat as he thrust harder.

His teeth sunk in the soft flesh above her collarbone. She wrapped her legs around him tighter, hissing as she arched her spine. It hurt and yet somehow it didn't, like a searing flash, heightening all her senses.

His breathing quickened and finally she understood what Cissy had meant, about the power. Never had anyone felt enough of a prize to Bella for her to see _the point,_ until now. She abruptly shoved him off, landing gracelessly on her feet. He caught her as she spun and trapped her against him, his chest against her back, his hands on her breast and leg, something raw in his red eyes.

"You're not going anywhere," he warned. It was there, the way his voice caught. The desire. Her power.

She shifted to welcome him once more and gasped as she found him. From behind her, his thrusts struck deeper. She clenched her teeth as it became almost painful. "Harder," she hissed. Moans of pleasure escaped her lips as his fingers dug painfully into her skin. It was both too much and not enough. She focused on him, the hiking to his breath, the rumble in his chest, and purred in satisfaction that she was doing this to him. He shuddered and stopped moving against her. She smiled upon feeling a tingle of magic. A contraceptive charm. _Good man_.

The look in his eyes was that of someone taken by surprise. But not one of regret. One that said they should do this again sometime. Bellatrix grinned and shifted back in place. She checked her hair, biting her lip in (pointless) worry. He'd barely touched her face.

"Your magic seems... feeble today."

_Morgana, of all the things he could choose to say! A compliment wouldn't have killed him._ "Perhaps you should educate yourself more on Ancient and Noble dark families, my Lord." _Riddle, you halfblood._ But if she said _that_, there was no coming back.

"Why didn't you come to me to remove the blood curse?"

_How- _It struck her then. She'd been a child. A brainless flobberworm. Orion and her parents had conspired against her, but for all that Rod was the only one who dared say it to her face, it was no secret that she and Voldemort were close, and that Lord Voldemort wasn't one to cross. Her family would never have bound her like that, especially without involving Cassiopeia, the only Black with a sliver of a chance against him, without Voldemort's blessing.

_He_ had orchestrated this. This man who wanted to own, to be bowed to. He must have expected her to rush to him, eager to claim a debt once he freed her. At least it meant he knew a way to undo the blood curse, because he couldn't have wanted her to be Uncle Orion's.

_A lesson a loyalty, huh? _"Rod has one advantage over you," she hissed. "He knows he can't own me, and he doesn't mind."

She stole a kiss then, because stealing was necessary when one wouldn't give, and no girl wanted their first time with another to go without a kiss. "I must go to my wedding." She raised her chin in challenge as he didn't move. "Unless you want us to leave this room together, my Lord? _I_ don't care if people talk."

His expression was unfathomable as he disapparated. Perhaps he'd expected her angrier. But why would she be: she'd found a way out on her own. She'd _won_. Not against Uncle Orion, but against _Voldemort_.

She giggled, half exhilaration, half madness, as she charmed the teeth marks off her skin, and mustered her best innocent smile for Narcissa and Amanda, who were waiting right outside the spelled door.

* * *

**September 1974**

Lounging in her new bed by the morning light, Bellatrix should have been happy. It had _worked_. Uncle had to know, he'd been avoiding her. But since Voldemort had let slip that the blood curse had been _his_ plan, Orion didn't occupy much space in her thoughts. Still, she could fantasize once more about stripping the skin off Lord Black in layers, proof the magicked loyalty had evaporated.

Along with her last name._ Bellatrix Lestrange._ It sounded so very odd.

Rod had surprised her with a muggle property in Belvedere, near London. Highly skeptical at first, she'd had to admit she much preferred it to living with either of their parents, and there was something fun about fixing up a place which had never been touched by magic. She'd taught the furniture to stack itself, and charmed the floors and walls to partly vanish for when she wanted space to fly indoors. She was now working on the ceilings, inspired by the Hogwarts' Great Hall (but why stop at showing the actual weather? Why not the night sky or, say, a firestorm depending on the mood, or on what message one wanted to give guests?).

"We should hang a sign saying you're a medium, Bella. Get our dear neighbors scowling. Then we'll make those wooden crosses over their beds bleed. We'll buy their property and expand when they become convinced you've made a deal with the Devil. The Ministry will never suspect." Rod smiled thoughtfully. "I could charm enlarged termites into their walls..."

He witty husband. She couldn't deny he was handsome enough, and he was an attentive lover. Her body seemed to like him more than it liked Voldemort, probably because Rod bothered to pay attention to it.

Yet there was no thrill. She was thoroughly satisfied and yet didn't particularly want more. She hadn't asked him to bite her. It just... hadn't come up.

Rolling over on the bed, he kissed her forehead. She slung her arm around him and she didn't worry about where her wand was or if he could physically overpower her. Because Rod was _safe_. His magic was the barest whisper as she let her head rest against his chest.

And she was bored. There had to be something deeply wrong with her. Rod didn't seem to mind. He was eager to show her off at whatever function or gathering they attended.

She did like Rod. Perhaps that was life : realizing compromises had to be made.

A handsome pigeon with a snake-shaped mark on its wing swept through the open window seconds after Rodolphus had left for the Ministry. Bellatrix, who'd hoped to snag three more hours of sleep after her night shift, shot an incinerating curse at it. It made for a satisfying pile of ash.

The doorbell rang. She'd charmed it to make muggles violently vomit if they touched it. No retching was heard. She huffed and went to open the door.

"You're right."

Bellatrix, hair disheveled and half-naked under her outer robe, found her annoyance replaced by curiosity. "No doubt, my Lord. About what specifically?"

She stiffened as Voldemort swept into the house, but she saw no sneer in his eyes at its very unfinished state, nor even any surprise. Then again, _raised muggle_. Not that anyone would suspect, the way he carried his dark robes.

"I have been delaying unnecessarily. It's time to stride forward and see who follows. Those who don't will be dealt with. I need you to help me with a ritual." He pulled a old tome out of his robes and gave her a charming smile. "For the newlyweds' library."

_Runic receptacles, by Kehinde __Òkúsànyà, translated by Moira Lovegood._

Bellatrix's heart hammered as she took it. After their last encounter, she'd had no idea how this one would go. Relief was slowly unknotting her muscles. "Will we use this today?"

"Yes, runic receptacles can be made to hold magic. They can be used to power enchantments and wards, or to maximize casting power. With a few days' work we should have enough receptacles to double our magic for a half-hour." He smiled thinly at her. "Orion came to me in quite a state. It seems you're a Lestrange not just in name but in magic. Free from the curse."

She crossed her arms, a sardonic smile on her lips."To think I'd not be happily married if not thanks to your meddling!" She giggled at the annoyance that flashed over his features. "What did you make Uncle promise you? "

"Full access to his library, for you, not me. I'll have to ask you nicely. Also: Bean!"

Bellatrix's eyes widened in delight as her childhood elf popped in the room and bowed. Bean had _never_ bowed to her. "Mistress. Old Master and Mistress have been treating you like bad child one time too many." There was a hint of sardonic amusement in the old elf's tone, one born of serving three generations of dysfunctional dark families. "Bean serves Mistress Bellatrix now."

Bean. He'd gotten Mother and Father to surrender _Bean_. That was as much backpedaling as she was ever going to get from Lord Voldemort. _Fine_. Bellatrix didn't want to fight either. Especially with him dangling the possibility of storing her magic for later use. The things she could do with _twice _her magic...

"So what are we going to do with all those runic receptacles?" she asked eagerly.

They didn't sleep together that time. Or most of the times. Not that she didn't enjoy his body, or, even more, feeling him want her. But magic had come first, and it still did. And in the same way, while her body could get his breathing to quicken, it was the fearless way she struck back, the times she challenged him in private, that put that glint in his eyes. He once pointed out that being married didn't remove her right to refuse Rodolphus, and she replied she didn't see why she couldn't have _both_. It was a lot of fun, to see him jealous. But he'd learned his lesson: push too hard, and she'd choose freedom.

She told Rod then, because secrets encouraged blackmail. He'd looked mildly hurt, then crossed his arms and asked her to vow she'd not magically or physically harm any woman he'd get involved with. She did, and they'd had to laugh about it, their _very proper _pureblood marriage. _'We have more fun together than our parents,'_ Rod had pointed out. And she'd had to agree.

Yes, she liked Rod very much.

* * *

**October 1974**

The cotton mill next to river Grwyne Fawr in the Black Mountains had once belonged to the Notts. They'd sold it to muggles in the late nineteenth century, a lean period for the family finances, turning a much greater profit than if they'd waited for a wizard buyer. They'd never meant for it to _stay_ muggle. Fifty years later, Arisha Nott had 'persuaded' old Andrew Yandle to alter his will in her favor. But the persistence of Yandle's family, friends and lawyers had been such that Arisha and her brother, fed up, had been less than subtle in getting rid, _permanently_, of the muggles. Both Notts had been locked up in Azkaban and ministry wards had ever since surrounded the mill, forbidding any wizard or witch to set foot on the land.

The old mill, now in the possession of Dylan Yandle, had been sold to be destroyed and built over. It should have happened generations ago : since the advent of steam, there was no profit in traditional cotton mills, but as ancient magical buildings were wont to do, it had charmed its owners into cherishing it, until the lack of magical inhabitants had left the building too weak to triumph over plain old greed (or, some would say, pragmatism).

Tiberius' remembered his Aunt Arisha fondly and had never forgiven the Wizengamot for condemning her so harshly. _So much hand-wringing for six dead muggles, when those beasts had killed each other by the millions during the '40s. _Today his family was reclaiming their property, and the Ministry was welcome to stop him.

Tiberius Nott had gone to Hogwarts with Tom Riddle. Along with Nero Mulciber, Brannon Rosier, and Ladon Lestrange, they were among his oldest allies (Nott didn't delude himself into thinking they were truly _friends_.) They sported the Dark Mark on their arms, because they knew Voldemort from a time he'd been more impulsive, less polished, and didn't need any more convincing.

They'd gathered with a squad of younger folk : Elric Jugson, Thorfinn Rowle, Gaius Flint, the Lestrange brothers and Rodolphus' new wife. Those were the new guard, those ready to fight for a Britain where muggles made space for wizards instead of the other way around.

Serena Selwyn nee Rowle and her husband Mithras stood next to Lord Voldemort. In her velvet blue robes and dragonhide heels, Lady Selwyn looked rather out of place in the muddy field, but she had that bearing of people used to being the center of attention, and of power. And perhaps that was why she and her husband seemed to not know how exactly to place themselves around Voldemort. What were great aristocrats to do with the unstoppable rising general?

"Cousins, thank you for indulging me today." Charming and charismatic, Voldemort stole everyone's attention with seemingly effortless ease (Nott remembered Riddle's social fumbling during those first Hogwarts years, his cold fury when he was sneered at, and his colder revenge). "The Wizengamot was established to unite the great houses into a true nation. I want to show you it's time for Britain to stop fearing to be great."

"We're curious to see what you have prepared for us, my Lord," Mithras replied. The Selwyns, after the Gaunts, had the closest claim to Slytherin's line. The latter had preserved the gift of parseltongue, but the former had preserved everything else.

Mithras looked cautiously pleased to be here, too intelligent not to know that his kind of power meant little if it couldn't be enforced. He'd had to notice by now that little could be enforced when it came to Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort signaled Bellatrix Lestrange, and together, they choked and burned away the alarm wards the Ministry had buried in the ground thirty years ago. It wasn't threads but pulsing _ropes_ of magic shooting from their wands. And the flow of magic just _wasn't stopping._

Every high-born mage knew the taste of magic : it stuck to the gnarled trees infested by garden gnomes, permeated the most lived-in rooms of their manors and floated around ancient portraits like invisible dust (unless a ghost was in residence, those swept away all residual magic like an enchanted feather-duster chased after cobwebs).

It now filled the air as Voldemort and his apprentice tore down in minutes magic that should have resisted an hour under the assault of a team of twelve. It wasn't the _usual_ kind of magic, soft, persistent, accumulated over centuries, it was alive and raw. _Dark_. And most of it was _his_.

The Dark Marks twitched, recognizing their master.

"The way is open," Voldemort finally declared, eerily relaxed for a man who'd just done what should have exhausted a team of ten. "Take what is yours. The muggle who claims these lands received a letter and a check, and will not come back, there has been no crime against the Statute." A smile twitched his lips, one that said : and soon, we'll not even bother with such details.

They had to ward the mill now, or the Ministry would just take it back. Their temporary anti-apparition wards were only to gain time.

None of them were weak mages. Even Rabastan Lestrange was still solidly average, and side by side with his brother, he more than made up for it with perfect coordination. Voldemort let them cast for a few minutes, before gathering his power once more. Not to recover from his earlier feat, but to make sure they all took notice of the before and the _after_.

He should have been only a voice, albeit a loud one, among twelve, instead he all but drowned them out.

"Let the Ministry come," he said, threatening laughter in his voice, "let them decide if they want to lay siege. Let see if Mr. Crouch asks his aurors to attack. Let see what others will think, of the Ministry stealing ancestral property."

The strands of magic wove into a shimmering translucent dome, fed by united purpose : _shield, keep out intruders_. They all watched the rising wards, mesmerized.

Suddenly, the incomplete wards buckled and twisted. Like a tense bow suddenly loosened, they snapped backwards.

Closest to Voldemort, who himself was standing where the ward strands had converged and magic was strongest, Tiberius Nott was sliced in half by the thunderous whiplash of unraveling magic.

The last thing he saw before he died was the slumped, broken form of Lord Voldemort. The last thing he heard was his old friend Nero's screams of agony.

* * *

Dark arts bowed to the strongest purpose. Nott had fiercely wished for his mill, but for the others, the wards weren't all that personal, at best a symbol for their own dreams of greatness. The Selwyns' fear of Lord Voldemort overpowered them all. Wards of the permanent kind were tricky magic, even the simplest were raised in a matter of hours, not _minutes. _Pooling together that much power in so little time was recklessly volatile.

_And too good an opportunity to pass. _

Serena and her husband could recognize a dangerous madman when they saw one. They liked Britain just fine as it was. With them at the top. They'd discussed it with Gaius Flint, a smart young man who could see they had so much more to offer him than this freakishly powerful self-styled Lord. Flint had told them how the man used legilimency on those he knew he could bully. They'd had to have the conversation _twice_, obliviating Flint the first time to avoid discovery. Serena had no illusions: this was not a man who would keep treating her and her husband well. Voldemort's arrogance and vanity, his certainty they would acknowledge his superiority, would be his downfall.

An illusion shimmered around Jugson, making it seem like _he_ had released the wards. Her husband's invisible confundus charm stole the halfblood's focus and heightened his panic. A stunner shot out from his wand towards the nearby gasping Ladon Lestrange. Had the older Lestrange been just a little closer to Nott, he'd be just like Mulciber, screaming with his bones crushed and his body flayed, instead the man had been trying to crawl to his wand, thrown five yards away by the blast. Brannon Rosier wasn't in a much better shape.

As one, the shaken Lestrange brothers turned their wands upon Jugson. Rowle, wide eyed and panicked, jumped between them, shouting out as hexes slammed into his shields. It was chaos. Nobody had been looking at her and her husband. Nobody would know.

Her escape was stopped by an army of cutting black ropes. Her blurring vision was filled with Bellatrix Black's murderous eyes.

* * *

Bellatrix hadn't been thrilled to see Gareth Selwyn's parents at a place of honor next to Voldemort. Really, it should have been _her_ place.

_'Politics. It's what society is all about.' _Gareth had mocked years ago, before he'd grabbed her, so certain she'd been using their duels as an excuse to flirt. _Arrogant arse_. Bellatrix hadn't thought of him in quite a while. But his mother looked very much like him, in a wholly irritating way.

And so, even as she cast the wards, her few unspent runic receptacles in her pocket (you should have seen their faces when she and Voldemort had undone the Ministry's alarm wards, burning through enough magic-charged receptacles to triple they magic, _priceless_), Bellatrix had kept part of her attention on Serena Selwyn.

She shielded herself reflexively before the wards violently unraveled. She didn't bother to look around before going straight for the treacherous witch.

* * *

Bellatrix's conjured ropes twisted into Selwyn's skin. Swallowing down the urge to Reducto the witch's head off, Bellatrix turned and conjured paralyzing tentacles all around Mithras Selwyn. A vicious smile curled her lips as he flailed with his useless frontal shield spell, slamming into the ground as one of the tentacles grabbed his leg.

Bellatrix suddenly swayed, her eyes losing focus as Serena Selwyn and her husband vanished, transported to safety by personal portkeys.

...

...

...

_Where is she? What is she doing here? What is happening? _

A field. A mill. A small river. She recognizes nothing. Noise assaults her ears.

Rod and 'Stan, screaming at Jugson and Rowle. Throwing curses like drunken men.

More screaming: Mulciber._ Oh, eww. Not good. _Nott_. Morgana! Even worse. _Uncle Ladon_. Covered in blood, but moving. Fixable. _Uncle Brannon was fretting by Ladon's side, looking like he'd been pushed through a burning barbed-wire fence. _Gross, but_ _fixable too._

She sees _him_ then, on the ground. The noise around her dims to a meaningless buzz. _It can't be._

_A healer. They need a healer_, _now!_

Her mind is blank while her body moves and her magic flares. Her mind is still blank as she apparates at Ladon's house and flies through the corridors until she finds Amanda.

Her mind slowly clears when Amanda says he's not dead.

"He should be," Amanda muttered, fighting away her shock. "The damage to his body..."

Bellatrix had realized she'd been obliviated by now. She was missing today, most of yesterday, and chunks farther back. She could remembers enchanting her first runic receptacles, yet a half-dozen drained pure gold marbles weighted down her pockets. She took out the two still undrained and pressed them to Amanda's hand.

"Just fix him. Tell me what to do." She didn't dare act herself, scared that if she just willed him better, she'd drain herself of all her magic, and for nothing. Every single bone looked broken, his deathly pale face was this limp, squashed _thing_. His robes stank of blood.

"Well, he's stable, somehow, so we fix him piece by piece." Amanda's voice was shaking, but she sounded certain. "You do the bones, it's easiest. One by one, Bella, _patiently_.".

Bellatrix had never realized just how many bones were in a body. And especially in your bloody _feet_.

"Merlin -. What has he done?" Amanda suddenly shrieked. "_How-_. It can't be!"

Her face had lost all color. Her hand, and wand, shook above Voldemort's face.

"_What_," Bellatrix snapped. "Should I be doing something other than mending bones?" Voldemort's chest was moving, but it was still a horrifying mess. At least his face was recognizable now. _Oh. _Perhaps _that_'s what was tripping Amanda up. "That's his true face, you won't fix it more."

"He should be _insane_, his self-control is ridiculous considering, but it won't last." Something had changed in Amanda's bearing. "I can't. It's _obscene_. This isn't saving a life. It's making a monster!"

Amanda wasn't making any sense, and, truly, Bellatrix didn't care what Amanda was thinking right now. She was thinking of Voldemort, of that broken puddle of a man that couldn't be Voldemort, of the _nothing_ around him where there had always been _magic_.

"Fix him. Fix him _now_."

"You don't understand. It's not just the face. I've never seen anything like it. I don't even know the name for it, but he... he's not _whole_, Bella! He -"

The words blurred. Because they didn't matter. _Why was Amanda talking? Why wasn't she healing him!_ Bellatrix _needed_ her to. _Now! _

"Imperio!"

Bellatrix's willpower strangled Amanda's sense of self. Amanda was nothing. A tool, a second pair of hands. Amanda's magic echoed back through the Imperius bond. It was a beautiful feeling, _control_.

"Fix him," Bellatrix snapped. "So he wakes up!"

Fixing people was what Amanda did. Something that felt right to her. There wasn't enough inside her to oppose the command.

"And tell me if I can help," Bellatrix added, her panic receding as Voldemort slowly became himself.

After a few excruciatingly long minutes, his red eyes blinked, and the healing accelerated. He was healing himself, his fingers curled around his last runic receptacle. A shuddering gasp escaped his lungs. His snake-like eyes shone blood red.

"Who tried to kill me?"

"I... I saw Rod and Stan dueling Jugson and Rowle. There was also... Ladon's hurt, Brannon is barely better. Mulciber's dying."

"Flint? The Selwyns?"

"What? Which Selwyns? I don't... I don't even know what we were doing today..." Fury was slowly replacing her earlier panic. "Someone obliviated me."

She grasped his hand to help him up, because he had no place being on the floor (conjured mattress notwithstanding). His magic was barely a whisper.

He started as Amanda jabbed her wand in his neck. "What are you doing?" he snapped.

"Fixing you, Lord Voldemort," Amanda said with a patient but concentrated smile before muttering some spells. She displayed neither fear nor unease. Because Bellatrix had none.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the blonde. His eyebrows then shot to his hairline and he turned back to Bellatrix.

Somewhat regretfully, Bellatrix hit Amanda with a slumbering jinx and released the witch from her control.

"Is there nobody you don't legilimize, my Lord?" Bellatrix teased, still breathless from relief. "My first imperius, you'd better be grateful."

He blinked. "I don't forget," he said after a pause. "Wasn't Wilkes being efficient enough?"

"She said you did something. She's soft... must've been too dark for her. She didn't say what exactly. Will it make you not die next time too?"

He stiffened, eyes glinting dangerously, but his searching case grew softer as he drank in Bellatrix's sheer relief. He smiled smugly, glamours painting back Tom Riddle's handsome features on his face. "I told you I'm immortal."

He had. She'd stupidly thought he'd been boasting. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her lungs. "You _did_. Bean!" Bellatrix grinned at the old elf. "Go get Rod and the others, tell them to stop horsing about and get their arses here. Before they kill each other."

She shook Amanda awake. The way the imperius muddled memory was very detailed in accounts of real or fictional magical crimes. Bellatrix was careful not to overpower her obliviate, not willing more than the curse, and the minute leading to it, erased.

"What-" Amanda's eyes widened when she realized Voldemort was standing and right next to her.

"I stunned you because there was an unexpected magical flare up," Bellatrix lied. "It was hurting you. I finished healing him myself."

Thick confusion darkened Amanda's face. "I can't quite remember wh... Well, I'm glad you're fine, Lord Voldemort."

"I'll go get some answers out of the lads," Voldemort said, striding away. He wasn't quite meeting Bellatrix's eyes. _Good_. It wouldn't do, that he'd take too lightly the fact she'd helped him so.

"We're dark mages," Bellatrix warned as the two witches were left alone. "And playing nice gets you nowhere. You're going to have to toughen up, Amanda. If this is too much for you-"

"Don't be daft, you're my second family."

Amanda's smile didn't quite erase her confusion, and Bellatrix felt a stab of guilt. A silly reaction, she was _protecting_ Amanda. The witch was Hufflepuff, a trained healer. It was better like this, to not upset her.

"I don't blame you for overpowering your stunner after such a shock. Just tell me what I missed." Amanda winced as she took in Bellatrix's dishevelled appearance. "Hey, I'm _so_ sorry. What happened at the mill? It must have been awful."

She hugged Bellatrix and Bellatrix hugged her back fiercely. She couldn't allow Amanda to break. She couldn't bear to lose Amanda. Amanda was _hers._

Bellatrix had never been prone to much introspection. She didn't quite piece together that most of her reaction was the imperius. That curse was one that stayed with you, nesting itself in your mind. People, and especially those you'd mind-controlled were suddenly much easier to see as _things_. Things that should behave as you willed. A few days later, that little dark voice quieted, slumbering but not dead, ready to awaken, _louder_, next time the spell was cast. The mind-control curse was addictive, fueling the caster's most primal selfishness, their hunger to have the world cater to their whims. Rare were the witches and wizards who had cast one imperius in their lives and _stopped_. So rare that the magical community had agreed on a qualifier for the curse : Unforgivable.

* * *

Bellatrix was playing drunken explosive snap at home with the guys (Rod and 'Stan had paid for a case of expensive wine to apologize to Jugson for having nailed him to the ground after thinking _he_'d made the wards snap, and for having cast an explosive diarrhea-inducing debilitating curse on Rowle for trying to defend his friend) when the doorbell rang.

Bean let Voldemort inside. He was holding a rather terrified looking mouse in his hand. The five put their cards down and stood up.

"There's a spell I'm going to teach you," Voldemort said.

He set the mouse down. The mouse became Gaius Flint. The wizard desperately scrambled backwards, his short brown hair matted by sweat and his eyes wild with fear. "I found the man who obliviated you, Bella."

"You bastard," Rod hissed. He was almost as angry as Bellatrix, because the obliviate had stolen moments and conversations, the kind of early-in-your-arranged-marriage conversations you didn't want to have to have twice. Rod elbowed a half-drunk Rabastan who already had his wand out, as if it was _his_ revenge to dish out.

"What spell?" Bellatrix said, her eager smile not reaching her eyes. It had better be something _good_. Flint deserved to burn.

"Let me demonstrate."

"Please, I -" Flint's voice was a pathetic mewl.

"_Crucio_!"

They all took sharp intakes of breath, flinching at the sudden screams. Rowle wrapped himself in a ball of silence. Jugson stepped backwards. Both nevertheless watched on pitilessly. None of the others moved.

Bellatrix's eyes glittered as Flint writhed in agony, screaming himself hoarse. _Bastard. Memory-stealing bastard._

When Voldemort stepped aside and let her try, she realized that she found it easy, _very easy_, to wish Flint pain.

The cruciatus, like the imperius, was a spell that begged repeat, that sunk its teeth in you like a drug. That erased others' humanity, and the caster's with it. Pain begot more pain.

* * *

Nobody ever saw Serena or Mithras Selwyn again. Nobody had known about the mill incident, but rumors begin to spread. They grew more urgent, more fearful after Voldemort, in a rather ominous toast during a reception hosted by Ladon Lestrange, promised he'd know if someone plotted against him. Whispers of a taboo begin to spread. By the time Alastor Moody had pieced the Selwyn case together, the name Voldemort had fallen into disuse in favor of another : the Dark Lord.

Gareth Selwyn was not killed. He was more useful alive. He accepted to serve Voldemort in exchange for his life mere weeks after his parents' disappearance. Bellatrix's smirk reached her ears as he screamed, the Dark Mark etching itself in his pale skin. _He'd once thought to lecture her about power. Ha. How she would enjoy to see him now, fear never leaving his pretty face. _

* * *

**February 1975**

"I have been working on the Mark," Voldemort said. "For you, I have altered it to hold memories, as long as they are linked to me in some way. Any such memory will be impervious to alteration."

Bellatrix didn't hesitate. "I'll take it."

His red eyes widened. She'd refused to take his mark for almost five years. "I'll display it proudly. Either they'll bow to us, or we'll make clear what happens to those who refuse to stand with us."

She'd seen him not die when he should've been dead. She knew he trusted her more than anybody, because she wasn't loyal out of fear or greed for her future, but because she loved their _present_. She didn't doubt anymore her ability to stand by his side, and not under him, even with his magic bound in her flesh. She didn't want to forget, _ever_ again. Besides, she liked the look of that dark, pulsing snake.

Receiving the Dark Mark felt like finding her true family. She was naked for the ritual, because she figured it'd make the whole night more fun. She was right. She didn't tell Rod. It would've been mean.

Voldemort could not have predicted that, with that enchantment, he'd guaranteed that after Azkaban she would remember him better than she remembered herself. The Dark Mark was an instrument of control, of subservience, it could not protect the memories without altering them. There was no more Voldemort as Bellatrix returned to his side, only _my Lord_, no more thoughts of independence or defiance. For all that he grew even crueler, less human, the Dark Lord was everything to her. There was nothing else left.

* * *

**An that's it for Bellatrix ! Admittedly, much longer than I'd planned for (okay, let's be real, this is the less planned story I've ever written). At first, I'd wanted to integrate the Longbottoms in Bellatrix's arc, but I couldn't find a way to do it justice here (the Longbottoms aren't a defining character moment for Bellatrix, for all that it's the crime that she's most remembered for). So I'm going to end with her firmly a Death Eater.**

**We'll soon go deeper in the war with Regulus, who's still a young teen right now (Sirius is disowned in the summer of '76, after his 5th Hogwarts year and Regulus' 3rd). I'm pretty excited with what I have planned for him.**


	16. R: Just Reggie

**Here we go, the missing thread to my very own Black family tapestry^^. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Regulus wasn't a complicated child. He just wanted people, and foremost his family, to like him.

Mother was easy : he smiled and hugged her and did what she said. He called her Mummy in private and Mother in public. He called her beautiful (and she was!) and rarely went a day without saying 'I love you'. Mummy acted sometimes distracted, and most of the time she didn't say it back, but Regulus' words and easy affection made her softer. Regulus learned to pay attention to Mummy's furs and jewels and perfumes, and to find the right type of praise to get Mummy's eyes to crinkle. The best days, she would even call him handsome right back. By the time he was five, Regulus had discovered the power of _'you're my favorite'_ and triumphed at seeing her smile. Not that Regulus lied. He loved her desperately, and he needed her to love him back.

Kreacher was easiest : Regulus would say please and thank you and ask Kreacher to sit on the bed when he wants someone to talk to. He'd been caught and told not to, because Kreacher was the House Elf, but it was one of the things he realized he just couldn't do. Oh, he'd stopped _asking_ Kreacher, he just patted the bed, so Kreacher could tell Mummy that young master had stopped asking. Satisfied, Mummy stopped asking too. Regulus wasn't happy to lie, but Mummy just didn't understand. Nobody did.

Yes, Kreacher was the servant, ugly and squeaky, but Kreacher was never bored with Regulus and always took his side. Kreacher never hurt Regulus or looked at Regulus like he was a failure. When Regulus was six, he told Kreacher he was his best friend. Kreacher's eyes misted up but he got stern and said "young master can't be talking like that," and a whole lot of things about being a Black that Mummy would have unfortunately approved of. But Regulus wouldn't have it. "It won't make me a better Black to lose my friend," he'd warned. "But you're right, you're too old to be my friend, you should be Uncle Kreacher instead."

Of course, he never said that when anybody could hear. He'd be told it was beneath him, and unbecoming. Sirius would tease. He'd say it was _sad_.

Regulus didn't love Kreacher as much as he loved Mummy, because Mummy was _Mummy_. But Kreacher was safest and there was no doubt, ever, that Kreacher might stop loving him.

Father was harder : Father liked obedience and quiet and Regulus could do that. Father liked people to appear proper and Regulus took pains to dress neat and stay stoic, especially in public. But Father also liked power and excellence and Regulus realized early it took him three times the effort it took Sirius to make their tutors proud. Oh Regulus was good at making Mr. Goshawk and Ms. Warrington _happy_. They said 'Very acceptable, young man' with warm smiles because they _liked_ him. Sirius would get scowled at and told his attitude was appalling, but _his_ work was excellent.

Regulus wished Sirius would help him get smarter. Sirius called him a pillock and a suck up instead.

Sirius was hardest. Sirius wasn't good at making Mother happy. Sirius got in trouble _all the time_. With Father, things were more complicated : Sirius got Father angry, but Father was also proud. He wanted Sirius to learn to be better, but he didn't seem to _doubt_ Sirius (Father _looked_ at Sirius, whereas Regulus rarely was worthy of his attention). Of course, it made sense. Sirius was powerful and clever and handsome, and even quite funny when he wanted to be.

But all too often Sirius got upset at Regulus, and Regulus couldn't understand _why_.

Regulus tried to make Sirius like him, by not telling on him, or by sneaking him stuff when Mummy punished him. Sirius hated Father, and Mother worse. Regulus knew that Sirius hated him _least_, but that was cold comfort. Regulus wished Sirius wouldn't shove him off and call him a baby when he tried to hug him.

Luckily, there was just two of them, so Sirius _had to_ play with Regulus. Regulus usually didn't mind Sirius making the rules, as long as he got to play. Even if it wasn't fair that he always had to be the goblin when they played goblin wars (Sirius got to be the goblin when they played goblin and robber, and Regulus once got locked in one of a barely-big-enough chest and told to pretend he'd been buried underground while Sirius took on a goblin voice and called him names. Suffocating in the cramped darkness, Regulus had panicked and called Kreacher, who'd vanished the chest. Sirius had called him a baby and refused to play with him for _two whole days_...)

After Sirius left for Hogwarts, nine-and-a-half years old Regulus was sad, and bored, but also relieved : there would be no one at home to upset Mummy. Of course, after Sirius sorted Gryffindor, Regulus realized that Sirius didn't need to be _here_ to make Mummy furious. Sirius was only two years older than Regulus, but somehow he took up ten times the space. But perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise : Sirius was the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, whereas Regulus was just... Reggie.

* * *

Regulus had a collection of feathers. Pigeons', starlings' and magpies' mainly : they would crash against the house's wards and leave wing feathers behind. Feathers were pretty and soft and useful. Regulus would paint them colors and cut them into quills. He liked to write letters to himself in his best penmanship. Sometimes he pretended he was Sirius and that Sirius told him all about Hogwarts and couldn't wait to show him. He wrote 'I miss you, Reggie' and 'I realize now nobody's a better friend', and it felt nice to see the words written even if it was all pretend. Sirius barely ever wrote.

At Yule, Sirius hadn't wanted to come back from school. Regulus hadn't even known you could _do_ that. Luckily Father and Mother went to Hogwarts and dragged him home. He got punished, of course, but he didn't seem to care and he was gloomy all the time. He said_ 'I can't wait to go back to Hogwarts'_, and worse _'Maybe Meda had the right idea.'_

There was a big hole on the family tapestry, where Andromeda's name had been. Everyone was in a bad mood. Regulus still couldn't wrap his head around it, how a single owl a few weeks back had shook the family worse than a blasting curse.

They stayed home for Yule, even if Regulus had begged to go to the Rosiers. It was all Andromeda's fault. At least Narcissa was here with them. Cissy was his favorite cousin. Like him, she was good at not getting in trouble and making adults happy. She smiled at him and listened when he wanted to say things. She hugged him back.

Yule got even worse when Bellatrix and Sirius didn't show up for the family dinner (dinners were adults and children younger than thirteen sat together were rare, and Yule was _important_). It turned out they had been racing on their brooms in the attic (Regulus scowled, because they hadn't even _asked_ if he'd wanted to come). Cousin Bella had set up a ward, so the adults were busy screeching at her and struggling to take them down, while she and Sirius zoomed about laughing their heads off (Cousin Bella was powerful, not _normal_ powerful like Sirius, something more. She didn't seem to care about being told she was too old to misbehave, and even Father seemed scared to punish her).

Kreacher told him Cousin Cissy was in the tapestry room, so he went to find her, eager to avoid the screaming match upstairs. She was standing quietly, her hands clasped before her and her face blank as she stared at the tapestry.

_Narcissa_, _Bellatrix, _in looping silver threads_,_ and next to them, charred darkness. It didn't look right at all.

Regulus walked up to Narcissa and wrapped an arm around her waist. His head rested against her upper arm. "Sometimes, I'm upset at Sirius too. I love him, but he's _mean_. I'm not sure he loves me."

Cousin Cissy's lips thinned and something hard tightened her eyes. "When I'll have a family," she whispered thickly, "it will be _perfect_."

"Will I be invited?" He smiled hopefully because he'd learned smiles from others were easier to earn if he smiled first.

The blonde leaned back into him, her expression softening as she smiled back. "Of course, often." She was really pretty on top of nice, and since Mother and Father were cousins and had married, sometimes he caught himself picturing Narcissa as his future wife. In those futures together, things were quiet and easy. Nobody shouted or sneered at each other.

"You're my favorite cousin. My favorite even. I mean... Mummy comes first but you're my second favorite."

A soft laugh left Narcissa's lips and she squeezed him tighter. For a second, instead of knots, a relaxed warmth filled Regulus' chest.

They stayed there for a while, in front of the tapestry in each others' arms, relishing in rare calm. Narcissa broke it with a soft sigh.

"How do you do it, Regulus? How do you say things like that so easily? Where did you learn? Who speaks to you like that?"

Briefly, Regulus' mind flashed to Kreacher._ 'Young master is the bestest, but young master can't be boasting about that. It not being proper master-elf relationship. Kreacher being self-indulgent.'_

_'Stop calling me that, you call Sirius that too.'_

_'Favorite young master?'_

_'Reggie. Come on, it makes me happy.'_

_'Reggie makes many impositions on poor Kreacher.'_

_'That's why I'm your favorite.'_

_'Yes, master Reggie.'_

He shrugged slightly. "It just... It's _true_."

Narcissa gifted him a photo-camera before the end of the winter holidays. He hadn't expected second presents. It was awesome.

"Pictures stay," Narcissa said. "Make them nice."

"Want some beautiful pictures of you? My tutors say it's wise to start with easy projects."

Narcissa had looked lost in thought, and that look that meant Andromeda (but not 'let's talk about it', nobody wanted to talk about Andromeda). Still, Regulus' words tore a smile from her. He smirked slightly, proud of himself.

"Alright, let's be frivolous for an afternoon. Come to my closet, I want to try some clothes on. And perhaps we'll be able to play on Sirius and Bella's vanity and get them eager to stage pictures for you too."

He struggled to hide how thrilled he was it when they _did_. Sirius was such a peacock and he charmed his robes red and gold (because _of course _he did), and he looked bloody proud about it when Regulus protested. Nevertheless, they had fun, together.

Regulus wasn't quite ten years old, but he held no illusions about Narcissa marrying _him_ (things might have been different, if he'd been heir, but as things were she would snatch up someone way more important than him).

"Marry someone who likes me," he therefore said, "because I like when we plan things together. They work."

It was shortly after that, that Narcissa pulled him and his photos-full camera aside and sat him down in her room. "Reggie, you're going to listen to me, because, in Slytherin, you're going to have to protect your heart a little."

Of course, Reggie listened, thrilled she'd take the time to teach him about important things (he got taught the basics, after all he wasn't a fast learner. Sirius was the one who got additional theory and lessons on politics.)

During the summer, Sirius found the letters Regulus had written to himself. The one's he'd pretended were from Sirius. Sirius called him pathetic. Regulus told him '_Fine, go stay in your ugly Gryffindor room, I don't care!' _Except his voice was too high, his eyes too wet, and Regulus vowed that when he was eleven, he'd never cry again. Not in front of Sirius at least.

Sirius was even more horrible than usual, yet for some strange reason, it hurt, to see Sirius in pain because he wasn't getting to eat anything other than red stuff (which meant horribly spicy food, even at breakfast). Regulus had no idea _how_ Sirius had charmed his bedroom Gryffindor red and gold. It couldn't be standard first year Hogwarts magic or Father would have reversed it in a blink.

Regulus _tried _to get Sirius in a good mood. "Father's really upset you out-magicked him," he said. "I'm impressed."

For a second, it worked. Sirius looked smug despite his pallor. He swallowed the banana Regulus had sneaked him in big, painful gulps and lounged backwards on his bad, admiring the scarlet walls.

"It's nice, isn't it?

"Why, though? It's just color. You knew they'd punish you. Why do keep causing trouble?"

"I don't _cause trouble_. I just... I _exist_. You're the favorite because you have no personality."

Regulus ducked his head. His lips quivering. He didn't know _why_ he bothered-

"Reggie..." Regulus looked up because for once, Sirius sounded _sorry_. "They're wrong you know, they're wrong about so many things. And they're evil."

"That's not true!"

Sirius' fleeting good mood was replaced by a dark scowl that made Regulus flinch. "You're just too stupid to see it. Go away. Go hug _Mummy_."

Sirius was really, _really_ difficult.

* * *

**September 1973**

Hogwarts was beautiful. Regulus was going to take so many pictures. He'd sat with Narcissa during the train ride, soothing his nerves as she explained about corridors, classrooms and prefects. She was in seventh year and knew _everything_, and he was so grateful she'd sat with him and not her friends.

Except now he was in the middle of the Great Hall, with a a ratty too-big-for-Regulus hat shoved over his head, a hat which happened to also be a thousand year old artifact. _Was that awkward silly stool they'd forced him on also an artifact? Why couldn't he have a dignified seat?_ He'd not expected there to be so many people he knew nothing of. _People beneath us_, Mother called them. _Half-bloods and mudbloods and riff-raff with no business mingling with people like us._ So many people, _staring_.

_'So full of love and loyalty. Hardworking too, I see. Your greatest wish is to have your parents' and your brother's love and approval.'_

_Slytherin, I need to sort Slytherin!_

_'I see... I admit that when you're a Black, a united, loving family is a very ambitious goal indeed. You've had to be cunning to get affection from people so ill used to giving it. Hufflepuff would teach you to value yourself and cultivate healthy relationships without losing your kindness.'_

"Don't you _dare_," Regulus hissed. Blacks _didn't_ sort Hufflepuff. _'I won't let you wreck our family even more!'_

_'You'd see it that way, wouldn't you? Well, Slytherin will also teach you a lot, doubtless a more painful road, but in the end, you will hopefully find yourself.'_

_Perhaps I'll teach them things too._

Laughter, the hat's laughter, filled his head, but it was not mocking. Regulus relaxed slightly and straightened on the stool, not wanting to look weak.

_'Yes, Mr. Black, perhaps you will.'_

"SLYTHERIN!"

Regulus sighed in relief. He couldn't help looking at the Gryffindor table. Sirius wasn't clapping. He was scowling. Regulus' chest tightened. _It wasn't fair._

At the feast he said little. He was used to testing the waters whenever he entered a room. To see if Mother was angry or in a good mood, if Sirius might want to play or if he'd just take out his temper on Regulus. Four boys and seven girls had sorted Slytherin, and his Rosier cousin (Evan, or 'Junior' when his father was around), introduced him to some of the third years. Narcissa made a point to come over and plant a kiss on his forehead before sitting back with the older students, and that suited him just fine.

He did stand up just before the end, and took his camera out. Most of the first and second years looked at him weird, but some of the older students crowded around and started posing, some solemn as you like, others making grotesque faces and gestures.

"I miss not having Hogwarts pictures from my first year," Narcissa said with a beautiful smile. "I'll take a couple so you can be in them."

Regulus didn't miss how some faces smoothed over at that, how some people imperceptibly shifted or moved away. There was an edge to Narcissa he hadn't noticed at home, something powerful and intimidating. It filled him with warm pride, but he was also acutely that Narcissa wouldn't be there next year, and that he had just ten month to make a place for himself.

"Hey, hey hey, over here!" a deep voice boomed. "I don't want to miss out!"

Regulus had to chuckle when his grinning head of house, wide as three first years, shoved himself playfully between them. "Now that's a fun way to start the year, kids! Hopkirk get over here, a smile won't kill you!"

* * *

The dark stones of the dungeons glowed with unexpected warmth. Floating bulb-like lights gave the impression of being underwater, in a way that whispered magic and secrets to be uncovered. Half the common room walls were covered with huge tapestries holding thousands of names. No name was charred, and the dates beneath had to be the Hogwarts years. Over_ forty generations_ of Slytherin students.

_'The dates correspond to years these people spent at Hogwarts, look at the first generations of students,'_ Slughorn would soon tell them. That's when Regulus noticed that, while the newer names almost all had seven years of schooling (with the occasional eight), it wasn't uncommon for the older students to have spent fewer, sometimes _much_ fewer years at Hogwarts than seven._ 'That's why we have rules, children. Magic is a powerful force. It's much easier to destroy than to build. I expect you all to be civilized. I want everyone to graduate _alive_.' _The first years had swallowed as one, muttering promises to follow the rules.

Regulus excitedly went to find his dorm, glad two of his three dorm-mates weren't complete strangers.

Arcesius Diggle was thick-armed blonde boy with a golden crest ring and a serious face. His great-great-grandfather had owned the biggest illusion circus in England, but his heirs had been a disaster and Diggle's father had been left with almost nothing to inherit, while minor cousins had made a fortune in masonry and warding. Diggle's parents were friends with Mother and Father, and Regulus had often played with Archie, while the adults lamented the rise of half-bloods and undeserving riff-raff over tea.

Roland Podmore Regulus knew less well. His mother was a dressmaker at Twilfitt and Tattings, and the sister of Regulus' tutor, Mr. Goshawk. Mr. Goshawk would take Regulus to the luxurious shop for fittings, and Podmore would be there. Regulus remembered fun hide and seeks in the shops' wide storage rooms, and pretend-play where they'd been founders and built their own school with domesticated dragons and huge goblin-crafted water-slides. Podmore was chubby, but with the kind of cute face and thick curls that got mothers cooing (well, not so much _his_ mother, but he'd seen the customers at the shop do it a lot.) Regulus didn't tell Mother they fooled around. He acted like Podmore just helped with the fittings, as befitting of the son of an artisan. Not that he wasn't allowed to talk to Podmore: Mother and Father both agreed that it was important to have good relations with the people who dressed you, only, you wouldn't want to forget who was who.

But Hogwarts was different, surely, else why would they be allowed in the same dorm?

"Dorm picture!" Regulus announced, camera in hand.

"Ugh, you sound like my mum," Podmore said. The boy had _tomes_ full of printed pictures of him. They were great pictures, the kind you advertised children's robes with. It reminded Regulus he should ask Mrs. Podmore for photography lessons.

"I'll send the film out and ask for copies," Regulus said, unbothered as he stole a first shot. "You'll post them to your mother. It'll make her happy."

That earned him a massive glower. "Don't be daft. For Yule perhaps. Else, she'll end up asking pictures every week."

"Isn't a film _without_ copies two galleons?" Archie said with a frown. "And one of those cameras like forty?"

"Cousin Narcissa gifted it to me for Yule. It's money well spent."

Archie looked like he disagreed. He was weird about money. Podmore made a noncommittal hum before turning to the third guy. "I know Black and Diggle, who are _you_?"

The last boy was blonde and pale, with blue eyes, freckles and a lanky frame. _Ian Redclove_, Regulus remembered. Nobody he'd ever met or heard about.

"Redclove. I have board games," he added, diving into his trunk.

He pulled out a _stack_ of games. "Awesome," Reggie exclaimed. "I brought a couple too. This is going to be fun."

"We can't stay locked in here playing games, we need to meet the older years," Diggle said "I know Avery and Bulstrode well, they can introduce us."

"I know Rosier, and Crouch, and Bulstrode too. We can play board games with them later. Unless you think you're good enough at conversation to enthrall a fourth year?"

Archie scowled. It wasn't _mean_, but it did suggest Regulus didn't understand anything about life. "Board games are for babies. We're at Hogwarts now."

Ugh. Archie could be so _serious_. "I'm confident I can get Narcissa to play with us. You'll have the opportunity to call her a baby to her face."

Archie kept scowling, but it lost all its bite. Despite their differences, Regulus wasn't too worried about them getting along. Archie wasn't mean.

Redclove chuckled. Podmore was smiling slightly too, but then his eyes narrowed at Redclove once more.

"Seriously now, where do you come from, Redclove? What do your parents do?"

Annoyance flashed on Redclove's face. "Wales. It's just me and my dad. My mum was foreign and she went back to her country. Australia. Dad makes a lot of money. Didn't got to Hogwarts himself." Redclove crossed his arms. "Don't worry, if people notice me, it'll because I'm going to be better than you at everything."

"You think you're better than me?"

"I don't know about better, I think I'll try harder and succeed better because I care more. I'm don't take things for granted."

Regulus had to frown at the assumption _Podmore_ took anything for granted. His family had no Lordship and they didn't even own a manor.

Podmore's jaw tightened. "How do I know you're not a mudblood?"

Redclove's eyes widened. His cheeks flushed. "What's your problem? And _no_, I'm-"

"Um guys," Regulus intervened, wishing his voice were deeper, "we have live together for seven years."

"Exactly, I want to know who I'm living with." Podmore shrugged. "I'll find out soon. After that little speech, you _better_ win us points, Redclove."

"I'm surprised you have such an old owl, with such a _very wealthy_ father," Archie added, sparing a glance for Redclove's gray owl.

"She's been mine since I could write," Redclove snapped. "She's a pet, not a _thing_."

"Arguments are boring." Podmore cut in. "Why don't you show us your boardgames, Black?"

Redclove's flush worsened, but his shoulders slumped. He shuffled next to Regulus, holding back a little. Regulus felt a little bad for him, but he didn't want Archie and Podmore to get angry at _him_. Besides, if Redmore came from nothing, he should be extra nice, not snap at them like that.

And Regulus wanted to _play_. So he smiled. "Mines is the most fun for beginners. You're a robber and have to avoid the goblin's dragons to steal various treasures from the vaults. The cards move and the dragon fire is _hot_, so watch out."

"What's those scribbled cards?" Archie asked, pulling out the stack.

"Oh that's the family's extra rules. Cousin Bella said we should be allowed to kill the patrolling goblins, but we then had to add a game mechanic about having to hide the bodies or the game wouldn't be balanced anymore." He bit his lip. "Don't tell actual goblins we did that."

Archie bit down on his lips as a smile dug into his cheeks. He dropped his crossed arms and stopped acting like games were for babies. "Fine, I'll talk to Bulstrode tomorrow."

* * *

It was two days until Regulus finally ran into Sirius. It was half past five and Regulus was done for the day. He'd wanted to explore alone, to not have to worry about being judged for chatting to portraits or following ghosts around. A nervous smile crept up his lips, mostly because it was Sirius, but also because there was another dark-haired boy with him. It had to be the Potter heir.

"Want to play, Brother? Or just show me around?" Hogwarts was _huge_.

"Sure, Reggie, how about you tell me where the Slytherin common room is?"

Regulus' face fell. "You know I'm not allowed to do that."

"Come on, just be sneaky about it, nobody has to know."

_Why did Sirius have to be a tosser?_ Regulus crossed his arms. "Stop being mean. Let's do something else."

"Welp," Sirius said with a sigh. "Boring and whiny like I remembered."

"I'm James Potter."

Wide eyed and curious, Potter had finally stepped forward. "Sirius has occasionally admitted to missing you."

Sirius shot Potter a glare. Potter just grinned, earning himself an eyeroll while Regulus recovered from shock. _Sirius had missed him? Really?_

"Charmed," he managed. _Pride_. He had to play on Sirius' pride. "I refuse to believe you've discovered nothing show off worthy in two whole years."

"Why should I show it to you?" Sirius said. He was teasing, that mean teasing that made Regulus' stomach tighten.

"Would showing the kid around really be so bad?"

"Eh watch out, James, he's one manipulative little snake. Fine, tomorrow at eight, by Old Mother Madge's portrait on the third floor."

Regulus hid his smile. Showing happiness would only invite more teasing.

Perhaps Potter wasn't all that bad, if he could make Sirius be nice.

* * *

He shouldn't have trusted Sirius. He _never_ should have gone. And he'd been a fool to think Potter was any better than his brother.

He missed Kreacher so bad right now. Kreacher would have fixed this.

Regulus took a deep breath as the wall slid open, allowing him back into the Slytherin common room. Predictably, everybody turned to stare.

A fourth year boy was the first to burst into laughter. Then a sixth year girl. Soon, it felt like everyone was crying from laughter. It was worse than anything. Hot and flushing, Regulus desperately wished he could disappear.

He did remember Narcissa's words : '_if you pretend it doesn't bother you, people won't smell weakness. They'll follow your lead.'_

"My brother, brave Gryffindor that he is." Regulus said as things got a little quieter. He couldn't gesture at his body to show what he was talking about, but nobody needed to be told what to look at. "And Potter. Cousin Cissy, I need to learn some spells, fast."

"You make a very handsome snake." She was smiling a little, but she hadn't laughed. Regulus was grateful.

Regulus hopped up to her, his knees and feet locked together. His sleeves had been elongated and spelled shut, trapping his arms uselessly against his body. The rest of his school robes had been similarly enlarged then spelled tight, so much he couldn't move his legs and could barely breathe with the way his collar stuck to his upper neck. Hypnotic snake-scale patterns shone all over his cursed robes, and spelled out SNAKIE.

His wand stuck out of his pocket, tantalizing close but out of reach. Regulus didn't doubt that it was only still there because stealing wands got you expelled.

"Do you know a spell that'd make Sirius furry, yellow and mewling?" He managed to ask despite the weight of over fifty judging stares.

The laughter began anew and Regulus feared he'd faint from shame.

He learned then that Sirius was popular, even in Slytherin. He was an enemy, but the kind of enemy people liked to have, because he stirred things up and made people laugh.

Sirius was _such_ a tosser.

* * *

Regulus let himself fall on Narcissa's bed with a sigh. She had a _whole room _to herself. He wondered if there were more dorms than students or if she'd hexed people to get her own space.

She caught him staring. "There used to be the three of us, then Andromeda and Bella left and no one new came."

Narcissa quickly loosened his robes with magic, and handed him a blanket to wrap himself into while she undid Black and Potters' transfigurations and charms.

"How did you get your sisters to like you?" he said miserably, bundled in the thick blanket, naked except for his pants.

Andromeda was (had been?) intimidating. And she'd been already a teenager when Regulus had spoken his first sentences. She loved books and she had that piercing look that judged you. Regulus had never quite known what to say around her. He'd wanted her to find him interesting or funny but... Meda had liked Sirius best anyway, she'd not really paid him much attention.

Bellatrix was kind of like Sirius: loud and unpredictable. She could be so funny and Regulus liked watching her, but he'd always been a little scared to get too close. Trouble clung to Cousin Bella's skin. Not that Regulus didn't love her. Bella was often eager to play, but it was often the kind of play in which Regulus ended up the Quaffle in a game of broomless Quidditch. That had been great fun at first (he'd been so full of cushioning charms he'd painlessly bounced off anything) but he'd ended up throwing up all over the floor from being tossed around so much.

Narcissa, who didn't roughhouse or even raise her voice much, nevertheless had found her place among them.

"We just did." Regulus winced at the sudden coldness in Narcissa's tone. He hadn't brought up Andromeda, but it was almost as if he had. "But perhaps I should rethink what I thought I knew."

Perhaps he should just focus on Bellatrix. "How's Bella been, now she's out of Hogwarts? Does she write you?" He'd bought Wimbleton Wasps robes when Bella had started working for them. Besides, the team was winning a lot these days.

"Occasionally. She's comfortable with her job and her friends. Bella has a passion for dueling and advanced magic, and she's found like-minded people."

There was still something about Narcissa's tone that made Regulus hesitant to pry. So he switched back to a safer subject. "Could Bella get Sirius to mewl?"

"Cousin, _I_ can do that. Don't underestimate me," Narcissa warned, her slight smile belying her falsely wounded expression. "Not by transfiguring his vocal chords or his skin, but by altering perception. I can make it so that everyone else just hears mewls when he speaks. Better, I can make him also hear everyone around him as if they were mewling, to keep him confused long enough for us to enjoy the fallback."

"And the fur?"

"Human transfiguration is complex, but robes I can transfigure easily. A fake fur lion coat, tacky as you please, glued to his skin." She frowned. "The spells are not the issue, not getting caught is. The teachers will know Sirius deserve it, but we cannot be too obvious."

Regulus was all too happy to help her plot.

After a moment, knocks revealed Podmore. He bowed his head at Narcissa.

"I just wanted to check in. Did that hurt? I brought a change of clothes, I figured your cousin might not have any to lend you."

"No... Well, my pride hurt... Thank you." Now he had to slide on the robes without looking ridiculous. His hands on the blanket surrounding him, he hesitated. A gray mist suddenly surrounded his body, like a screen of smoke. Narcissa, wand pointed at him, smiled knowingly. Regulus grinned back, cheeks pink, and hastily changed.

Podmore cleared his throat. "Eh, you could have hid in a spare classroom until the spells dissolved, but you didn't. Your brother won't be able to say you're a coward. Will your robes be fine?"

Regulus chuckled, somewhat hysterically as his nerves finally got the better of him. "Thanks. Narcissa's got this."

"I... I have siblings too, you know. Primeveire, and Sturgis... I doubt they'll sort Slytherin. They're really close, not so much with me... Mum wasn't Slytherin, Dad made a point to tell me he didn't mind if I didn't sort it."

"Sirius is a git," Regulus grumbled. "I'm sure some people manage to stay friends with siblings across houses..."

"Yes," Narcissa agreed.

Podmore bit his lip. "I... You plan to get back at your brother? I could help."

Regulus had to smile. "You are aware he'll be Lord Black one day?" Podmore had always seemed a stickler for rank, and the way he acted around Ian Redclove proved it wasn't just a show he put on for his elders.

"Yes, well, I don't intend to do anything vile, Black. Just... _proportionate_. I'm good at modifying clothes. I got my wand in April and Mum taught me a whole load of spells."

"Didn't I tell you to call me Reggie, years ago?"

"My uncle forbade me to. He said it wasn't proper."

_'Proper' was wholly overrated._ "Mr. Goshawk's not here, Roland."

The boy smirked. "Sure, Reggie."

Sirius would be a lot less smug once the three of them figured out a plan.

* * *

**Author's notes :** I've lightly edited the "the Black Gryffindor" and "Narcissa Malfoy" chapters to keep the timelines consistent.


	17. R: Tired of Shadows

**Author's note.**

A foreword (Paul, you got me thinking about the way I portrayed Sirius) : Sirius is intentionally unsympathetic. On top of the fact that Sirius objectively has some massive flaws, this is Regulus' point of view. Events are heavily colored by his interpretation and he rarely sees Sirius at his best.

I could write an essay on their complicated relationship, but the crux of it is that Regulus doesn't see that Sirius is abused, he only sees that his brother intentionally gets in trouble and Sirius' (sometimes cruel) temper. Sirius considers Regulus complicit to the abuse, because Sirius can't see how one could both love their parents AND mean it when they say they love _him_. That's without even going into the mutual jealousy (Regulus is loved, Sirius is talented), the different roles they've been raised for (Sirius as the future Lord Black, so someone who takes action and makes decisions, and Regulus as someone who follows orders), and just how different they both are.

**On that note, happy reading^^.**

* * *

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" Regulus whispered. He knew he should be casting with confidence, but keeping his voice low was the only way to hide his nervousness.

The owl feather, one of many sitting in line on the Charms classroom's long table, didn't twitch.

Regulus tried to concentrate on the feather, on air rushing under its soft barbs, on an invisible finger picking it up (wouldn't be a _floating_ finger then? did he need to focus on a giant arm sprouting from his back - )

_Merlin, he'd gotten distracted again._

Regulus took a slow breath. _Wing- _His tight throat swallowed back the incantation. It felt like the whole class was watching him, judging him. Practical charms was the worst. In the other classes, he'd seat in the back row, but in Flitwick's classroom's setup: a half-circle of long benches, a single long table at the front, and students allowed to walk about, there was nowhere one could escape attention.

Not all feathers were floating, not even half, still, everywhere Regulus looked there was at least some _movement. _

"Look, Black's so advanced he's trying wordless magic already."

Regulus clenched his jaw, his tight eyes locked on the accursed feather. This was _Sirius_' fault, for showing others that it was fine to _not_ respect him.

He willed himself composed as he turned to face Birtwisle. With a fringed square haircut that looked to have been obtained from three severing charms, and cheap bracelets that jingled with her every wrist movements, the Gryffindor was the kind of riff-raff Regulus' parents had warned him about.

"Please, do show me the spell," he said with a forced smile. "Birdwhistle, isn't it?"

It was satisfying to see her flush. It wouldn't do for her to forget that she was a halfblood and nobody worth remembering.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" she snarled. The feather rose half a foot upwards._ More a bounce than actual levitation_, Regulus told himself furiously, yet he couldn't stop the flush spreading up his cheeks.

"Inbreeding," she accused, her smirk broad and angry, "from dark wizards to dark squibs..."

"Miss Birtwisle, stop distracting Black." From the other side of the room, Flitwick couldn't have heard their words. "Move back next to Miss Falksdotter."

"Just a jealous minger," Roland muttered. His own feather was crookedly floating upwards, like a slow, drunk fly, but it was _floating_. "She'll never have what you have."

Regulus smiled faintly, because it'd be rude to not acknowledge kind words. He forced himself not to slouch or cringe, desperate for class to end. Roland was protective of him, which was nice, but it suggested that Regulus needed to be _protected_. Like some baby. Like someone weak.

Regulus strode away from the group as the others hurried to lunch. He needed to clear his head, _alone_.

Slowly, the portraits-filled stone walls succeeded in distracting him. Strolling through Hogwarts felt like glimpsing memories of long past times, like walking among floating puzzle pieces from a thousand stories. Most portraits paid students little attention, nothing like the loud Black ancestors back home, so quick to shout or tell them what was proper.

He'd reached in the east wing of the third floor when he heard a girl's voice echoing up from the corridor to his left.

" - waste. They just don't last. I like this one better: _Custos Lepus!_"

A shimmering golden hare made of yellowish-gray magic bounced out of the corridor, ears-twitching. Regulus froze. There was nowhere to hide. The ethereal creature's eyes locked onto Regulus'.

The hare flashed red.

Rustling of robes and quick footsteps revealed two older students.

"I was going to say: it's an alarm spell."

The girl was a pretty redhead in Gryffindor robes. Next to her, the skinny boy with lank black hair was in green and silver. _Snape_. Nobody whose name Regulus would have bothered to learn, if not for the fact his brother and Potter seemed to hate him more than anyone else.

"Perhaps he is lost," Snape drawled. He stood a head taller than Regulus, ungainly and stooped, with zits on his skin and teeth that could use twenty galleon's worth of charms. He was also notorious for being a swot who sat next to a Gryffindor mudblood in class. That had to be her.

Regulus stiffened as the hare kept staring at him, burning with magic as if charms that lasted _minutes_ were the easiest thing in the world.

"Did someone petrify you, Black?"

"It wasn't lepus. It's a _nice_ guardian spell, I swear."

The laughter in the mudblood's voice made Regulus bristle. Even _her kind_ had no respect for him. Regulus took a slow breath. It was barely October. This couldn't go on.

"I'm tired of being called an inbred dark squib. I could use some tutoring. I'm now thinking you could provide it, Snape."

Narcissa would have told Regulus to _not_ say what was bothering him, but what did he have to lose? Snape was such a social nonentity that badmouthing Regulus would only worsen his position.

Snape blinked in shock.

"You're Sirius Black's brother, aren't you?" The girl asked.

"Can't escape it. Does anybody call Githead an inbred dark squib?" _Stupid question, obviously._ But as Regulus had hoped, Snape suddenly looked much less hostile.

Regulus took a slow breath and bowed his head to the redhead, like he would have for a pureblood. It didn't take a genius to know people responded well to consideration, and her magical hare was just beginning to dissolve into thin air. "Regulus Black, nice to meet you, Miss ...?"

"Oh. Evans. Lily. Nice to meet you too." Her smile was hesitant but warm. Her own head-bow was all wrong, and he had only introduced herself, not invited her to use his first name. But Evans' awkwardness helped. It reminded Regulus of what he was _good_ at.

He turned back to Snape. "I'll pay you. I'll help you with..." _how to put this delicately? _"making people see what you're good at instead of what you're lacking."

"I'll never be pureblood."

"There's nothing wrong with being halfblood, or muggleborn," Evans muttered, her jaw clenching.

"Let me rephrase that," Regulus said, some of his nervousness evaporating. "I can help you be valued for your magic. And my essays are fine. I just can't seem to muster the focus to cast efficiently." And he didn't have the raw power to balance out a lack of focus.

"How much?"

"Sev-"

"Two galleons a week for hourly tutoring four nights a week?" Half his allowance. It seemed fair.

Snape's eyes widened. "Fine."

"Come on, Sev! Come off it,_ two _galleons? One's already-"

"_Lily_," Snape said with a scowl that said _don't ruin it_.

Evans threw her hands up with a sigh. "_Fine_, exploit the eleven year old."

"We have deal, Snape," Regulus said, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. He had money, Snape had skill, this would work. Patronage was something great houses had done it for centuries.

"Where will we be meeting, Black? This part of the third floor is usually deserted..."

Regulus frowned. _Snape expected to be hidden? _He smiled, new confidence filling his lungs as he realized just how bad the older boy's situation was. "The common room, Snape. And I won't say about you two."

"Why would he be ashamed of me?" Evans exclaimed. "Gosh, how is it that the house of the _ambitious_ is so obsessed by blood and birthright and things that are pure _luck_ and have nothing to do with character and ability."

Regulus bristled. "You wouldn't understand," he snapped. As if it was just _blood_, as if it didn't show in everything from her clothes to her mimics and her words. As if she knew anyone or anything outside Hogwarts itself. "And don't be a hypocrite : you two are hiding up here, and not just from Slytherins." Evans' scowl proved his words had struck true. "I'd like to start tomorrow, Snape. Half past five. I'll leave you alone now."

He waited for Snape's nod. The boy looked suspicious and was awfully weird, but better than asking Narcissa. Regulus couldn't bear the thought of her realizing just how much he struggled.

One week later, Regulus' feathers gracefully floated up to the ceiling. One month later, he managed to partially transfigure an earthworm into a champagne flute in class. The crystal was a translucent gray, and the flute half the size it should have been, but it was solid enough to drink from and Professor McGonagall awarded him a point for the first time. Practical spellwork, especially in public, stopped being something Regulus dreaded.

Snape was prickly and impatient and condescending, but he was still much easier than Sirius. Snape needed the money. He needed the opportunity to show off. The tutoring sessions allowed him to take his place in the common room. Slowly, he began to relax around Regulus. And when Narcissa took an interest (it was the spell-crafting), suddenly Snape could hex back the Slytherins who sneered at his breeding or his appearance, safe in the knowledge he had a powerful ally. Some days Regulus found himself seething with envy. Of the glint in Narcissa's eyes when she and Snape spoke of magic. Of the admiration Narcissa so easily had from Snape, whereas, with Regulus, Snape had to swallow back his sarcasm and boredom, and force himself to be patient.

But Narcissa also began to come more often to the tutoring sessions and teach Regulus herself, and she invited him to her dorm when they crafted their spells. He didn't want to lose that. He didn't want to lose the pride in his chest when he cast his first _lumos _well before that bitch Birdwhistle cast hers. Flitwick exclaimed _well done!_ so cheerfully the girl sulked for the rest of the lesson.

* * *

Autumn gave way to a mild winter and a warm Spring. Regulus and Roland had taken the habit of flying around on one of the school's spare brooms on the days the Slytherin team booked the pitch. Often, small groups flew for fun on the sidelines, leaving the players to more regimented practices. Sometimes, the players were happy to have other students of passable skill to practice against.

Regulus come to realize he had a good balance and a good eye. Unlike his more rowdy housemates, he did not feel the need to show off or push the broom to its speed limits and so he missed fewer opportunities. He decided to try out for Seeker at the beginning his second year. Aditri Garjan had announced she wouldn't play during her OWLs year and the current reserve Seeker wasn't all that good.

Quidditch wasn't Regulus' passion, but it made you popular. It was too good an opportunity to pass.

As such few things could keep him from the pitch on practice day. One was letters from home and this one was particularly fat. Regulus smiled at the beautiful jay wing-feathers in the envelope. Kreacher always included a little something. Regulus also always made sure to include something for the elf to take, before he'd pass on the letter to Mother.

_'My dearest Reggie, you have been shielded from the storm that befell our family this Beltane, but now you also must be informed. After all, you are no child anymore.'_

Regulus perked up in interest. His good mood fell as Mother's increasingly scathing account of Narcissa's engagement to Lucius Malfoy darkened the pages.

_'So now you understand. I am counting on you to bring Narcissa back to her senses. She must be made to see that being the lesser partner in a marriage is suicide. He will erase her politically and deny her all form of power. She's too arrogant and naive to not see that Malfoy just wants a pretty broodmare he can control. She's so blinded by wealth and sweet words she treats us, her own family, like we know nothing. Don't let that vile man steal her from us, Regulus.'_

He was a little dizzy when he carefully folded the letter back into his bag. The next day found him searching for Sirius between lessons. His insufferable brother was _never_ alone. Always glued to Potter and trailed by their two vassals. Regulus took a few slow breaths and squared his shoulder before he walked up to them. He hated how his heart raced and his throat dried up before _anything_ had even happened.

"Sirius, I need to talk to you about a letter Mother wrote me."

"Ooh, I'm in trouble now." Sirius said with exasperating fake fright.

The other three laughed, the tossers.

"It's not about you," Regulus snapped, his arms crossed tightly as he willed his voice slow and composed. He _couldn't_ afford to squeak now. Sarcasm seeped into his tone. "Will you deign to grant me five minutes, oh future Lord Black. Shall I bow? Or perhaps read Mother's letter out loud in the Great Hall? It will highly amuse _everyone_."

A bluff of course, but one that worked.

Sirius huffed, in that exaggerated _everyone look at me! _way Sirius did everything. "Five minutes."

Regulus flinched as his brother grabbed him by the arm and dragged him a corridor away.

"So what does _she_ want?"

"Mother's convinced Narcissa is going to ruin her life marrying Malfoy."

Sirius barked a laugh. As if this wasn't _serious_. "Merlin's pants, I'm conflicted! Anyone Mother disapproves of has to be alright. But _Malfoy -_"

"Do you even care about Cousin Cissy?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Please. Father wrote me a few days ago, appealing to my sense of family. He ordered me to consolidate the Black Lordship, and warned me that Narcissa was key to our family's power and not be squandered. Show me Mother's letter."

Sirius rolled his eyes a lot as he read it. Mother and Father _loathed_ such eyerolling. Regulus had to bite his tongue not to snap at him to knock it off.

Abruptly, Sirius burst out laughing. "Oh wow, she actually wrote 'lesser House' when talking about us? She must be _frothing_."

"You don't think Cissy is being fooled? Or are you just happy Mother's mad?"

"Unclench, Reggie. Narcissa's realized she doesn't _need_ the lesser House and the awful people in it. Just like Meda did, only Cousin Cissy's bloke is rich and pureblood, so society won't shun her and Mother will be stuck biting her tongue."

"How can you even compare the two!"

"What, two witches defying their lousy parents to marry someone who makes them happy?" Sirius grinned, his eyes glinting with contempt. "Indeed, what's to compare?"

"Andromeda left us!"

Sirius' mirth vanished. "Don't be a prat, she still lives in England. You can write or visit her any time. The _family_ has chosen to blast her off and give her a hard time."

Suspicion narrowed Regulus' eyes. "Have _you_ been visiting her?"

"Why, eager to tattle? Want to get Meda and Ted killed?"

Regulus grit his teeth and snatched back the now crumpled letter. "I believe the five minutes are over. Thank you for your time, Lord Black."

"It's not your job, you know," Sirius muttered, shooting a look at where his friends were waiting.

"What_._"

"To fix our family. What kind of mother puts pressure on a twelve year old to talk an overage witch out of her wedding?"

"I'm not a child anymore."

Sirius rolled his eyes, _again, _before striding away. "Sure, Reggie."

Left alone to stare at his brother's retreating back, Regulus fought back the urge to hex him.

"What was that about?" Regulus heard Potter say.

"My mother's a nasty witch. Big surprise."

Regulus winced at how Sirius' voice boomed. Anyone could hear. _How could he have no respect? _

_He had no choice_, Regulus realized as his feet brought him back to the common room and Narcissa's dorm. He _had_ to tell her. His fingers brushed the door but he didn't dare knock.

The dorm's door magically opened from the inside. Wand in hand, Narcissa greeted him with an arched eyebrow, the room impeccably neat with no way to know what Narcissa had been doing. It was unnerving (and purposeful, of course, Narcissa cultivated her image carefully). Her expression softened as she recognized him. "What's bothering you, Reggie?"

He'd planned on steering the conversation and subtly getting her to see Mother's point of view. Instead, within three minutes, he'd somehow handed Narcissa Mother's letter.

She did not roll her eyes once. Her expression was a mask of perfect indifference. "That's rich of them," she simply said, setting the parchment aside.

"Sirius said..." '_you're like Andromeda' _would not do. "He said you just want to marry someone who'll make you happy."

"Sirius has moments of striking insight. Lucius doesn't need to be afraid of my family to treat me well. He _likes_ me."

"You mean, even if you were nobody, or... a halfblood like Snape? He'd marry you then?"

Narcissa's lips pinched. "I imagine I'd be a rather different person... But he's not marrying me because I'm a _Black_. " She sighed. "His father is a good man, you know. They're affectionate with each other, and Abraxas has treated me quite well."

"You're sure it's not a ploy to get you wed?"

"Regulus, marriage is not Azkaban. I can leave. Do you not want to see me happy?"

That was unfair. "Of course I do."

"Listen, I'll make sure to introduce you properly to Lucius this summer. We'll spend time together then, just the three of us."

Regulus' excited smile soon withered. "What do I write Mother?"

"That you're working hard at convincing me, and got me to say 'I'm not certain about Lucius', and that you'll keep working."

"But when you do marry him -"

"Reggie, some people are constantly disappointed. You learn to not take it personally, or you go mad. Walburga loves you. She won't stop because of that."

Regulus nodded, feeling conflicted. But Mother couldn't see how Narcissa smiled when she spoke of Lucius.

"I hope he doesn't just _like_ you. Does he say he loves you?"

Narcissa took a slow breath, her eyes sparkling as her cheeks dimpled. "We're working on it."

"Don't marry him until he can say it. You deserve that."

Narcissa's soft arm surrounded Regulus' shoulders. "You're right." Her smile was somehow hard and hopeful and excited as her blonde hair tickled his neck. "You're right."

* * *

Regulus couldn't help feeling like a failure at Narcissa's wedding. Mother smiled because it was what you did around guests, but she was miserable and asked Regulus to stay by her, so he _had to_.

"I think she'll be happy with him," he whispered, hating how smiling at his beaming cousin would have made him feel disloyal.

"Perhaps. I just wonder what we did to her to make her hate us so. You won't ever marry a girl I don't approve of, won't you, my Reggie?"

"Of course not, Mum." He hated seeing her unhappy. He desperately wished he was clever enough to see how to _fix_ this. His attention was caught by a figure in black standing with Cousin Bellatrix. They seemed to be playing around with the Manor's wards under Abraxas Malfoy's amused and wary gaze. "Is that... is that _him_?"

Mother abruptly stood up. "Quite. Let's get Bellatrix to introduce you, at least the day won't be wasted. Stand proud, he's more powerful than Dumbledore, and rumors are he cannot die." _What-_ But Mother didn't look like she was joking. "He's entirely too fond of Bellatrix but mark my words, he's going to change the Isles for the best."

"Ah, baby cousin!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "I was scared Aunty had kidnapped you. My Lord, baby cousin, baby cousin, _bow_."

After a half second's hesitation, Regulus smoothly bowed. In another context, it might have been humiliating, but he realized he didn't mind those two thinking he was small. It should have been impossible, and yet there was a distinct hum of magic coming from Lord Voldemort, something coiled and impossibly powerful that sent a shiver down the twelve year old's spine.

"The rising generation of great families," the Dark Lord said with a thin smile. There was something odd about his handsome face, and a red sheen to his eyes. Regulus found himself staring at the man's eyebrows to not turn his gaze away. "Your descendants will say England's golden age began with you."

Regulus opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't blink away from the Dark Lord's face, as if he'd lost control of his thoughts.

Soft perfume and a halo of blonde hair suddenly broke the spell.

"Regulus, darling, you have to make me dance." The tight grip on his arm made Narcissa's easy smile a lie. "Don't break the wards, Bella, you'd make poor Abraxas cry."

Bellatrix smirked. "Don't worry, I'm civilized."

Heart hammering, Regulus could barely breathe. He waited until they were out of earshot. "Cissy, _what_ -"

"Legilimens, no doubt. You're a child, Reggie, don't let them see you as anything else."

_I'm not - _The tightness in Narcissa's eyes killed his protests. He smiled nervously in gratitude, happy to dance.

* * *

**1975 – Regulus' 2nd year**

Regulus was part of a war. They called it _pranks_.

It was the art of finding the line between humiliating and funny, between shocking and acceptable, and giving everyone an excuse for postponing the inevitable advent of adulthood. The Marauders were at the heart of it. In a quieter age, people might have condemned instead of admiring them, but the 70s were dark times, and while few would think to articulate it that way, it was _important_ to have drama at Hogwarts to drown out what was happening outside. The students were shielded but not oblivious. Power, who had it and what it meant _not_ to have it, was a preoccupation that poisoned the very air. Even the first years realized on some level that the rules held less meaning these days. That this was a era were people _took_.

In this atmosphere, was it so surprising that teenagers too had insolently risen to claim power of their own? The Marauders were special in that they targeted the muggleborn and the politically insignificant least. They mostly targeted the powerful, their allies and those who seemed to align with the rising Dark Lord. To those spared, the Marauders were proof that it wasn't just Voldemort's faction that had a right to _attack_. That those who lacked relations among the wealthy or the politically relevant weren't doomed to a role of beleaguered victims. It fed their sense of justice to see the playground leveled. And for that, the Marauders, and Sirius and James especially, were their heroes.

Regulus was not on the first lines of this ongoing war. He didn't particularly enjoy drama and, now resigned to the fact that Sirius would never like him, he much preferred to avoid his brother. Despite his efforts, he was nevertheless sometimes sucked in.

End of year exams were a month away, making the library a much more popular place than the rest of the year. Regulus was with Roland, on his way back to the Great Hall from the library, when shouts, some very distinctly _Sirius_' shouts, filled the corridors.

"Did I really hear '_sodomized by house elves'_?" Roland mouthed.

Wide-eyed, the two thirteen year olds gingerly hurried towards the increasingly loud stream of obscenities.

They finally spotted them : Sirius, Potter and Lupin furiously sprinting towards the stairs. The overlapping shouting muddled things, but Sirius' '_transfigure you into an arsewipe' _was rather distinct. Also, Potter's head was completely _bald_. Whoever their current enemy was, they seemed long gone.

A door slammed open, revealing an aborted teacher's meeting and an irate Professor McGonagall.

"Black! Potter! Lupin!" McGonagall bellowed above the storm of profanity. "What do you think you're doing! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"_You_ need a shag."

Regulus stopped breathing. He and Roland shared a look of horrified fascination. _Had Potter just said -? _

"Bet Hagrid's down for it. He'll pound a sense of humor right into you."

"Are you insane, Potter? Fifty points from Gryffindor!"

"_Points_," Sirius scoffed. "Greatest weapon of the Light Wizards. We're _doomed_. Voldemort -"

"_Each_!"

"Let us through you daft twat!" Lupin bellowed before slamming his fist awkwardly against his face and howling in pain.

"Silencio!" Not one but three streaks of magic in quick succession silenced the three fourth years. "Minerva, look at Mr. Lupin," Professor Flitwick said, eyes narrowed as he lowered his wand. "These lads are cursed, not being provocative."

Regulus realized then that Potter and Sirius looked oddly flushed and that Lupin was now crying from having literally punched himself in the mouth. _What kind of curse -. _

McGonagall seemed to finally notice the two Slytherin. And the nosy crowd rapidly gathering behind them.

"Black, Podmore, take Mr. Lupin to Poppy," she said in clipped tones.

Whatever Potter tried to say with his hands ended up being a very sexual, very rude gesture at his head of house. Thin ropes instantly bound his wrists.

Lupin, a numbing spell taking the edge off the pain from his bleeding mouth, didn't wait for them to start sprinting for the Hospital Wing.

Still not quite believing what they'd just witnessed, Regulus and Roland rushed after him. After Madam Pomfrey let them go, muttering under her breath, the boys soon were ambushed by Snape.

"Tell me _everything_," he said, looking unusually gleeful.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at the taller boy. "I'll tell you, word for word. But first, I want to know which spells. I know_ Loquax Turpido_ to get people babbling obscenities, but these weren't random words, they were targeted insults."

Snape smirked. "_Clamo Infamia. _The curse takes the shape of a cloud of fumes and affects all who breathe it. It stirs up the darkest corner of your mind, makes you say things you would never say unless you were in a particularly hateful mood."

Regulus sucked in a breath. Insulting people wasn't a long shot for people like Potter or Sirius, and Lupin, timid bootlicker that he was, had resisted the curse quickly enough; but still_, to twist the minds of three people at once... _Dark arts required _purpose_, and Regulus didn't dare imagine the well of hate and fury Snape drew from to power such a curse.

"And Potter's hair?" Roland asked.

"_Perfrico Corium."_

Roland guffawed. "Should have guessed! We use it to tan hides at the shop. Merlin, that must have hurt. Why his _hair_, though? A potion will grow it back in a week."

"Yes, a _whole week_ of not having to watch that vain wanker constantly muss it to make girls swoon. Now _what did they say_?"

Regulus took a slow breath, determined to repeat everything without giggling like an idiot. Soon, the three Slytherin were laughing so hard they were crying.

"Even if you got away before they recognized you, they'll figure out it was you," Regulus pointed out once they'd caught their breath.

"_Obviously_, not that they need a excuse to hex me. But I couldn't have the teachers catch me."

"We'll make sure Slytherin knows it was you. It's neat magic, Snape."

Snape tried, badly, to hide his eagerness at the prospect as he made a show of assessing Regulus. "_Perfrico Corium _shouldn't be too difficult for you, Black."

Gryffindor got its points back, but it didn't change the fact that Potter would never be able to scrub from his memory the fact he'd told McGonagall to get laid. With _Hagrid_. Snape was all too happy to tell them just how awkward the next transfigurations lesson had been.

* * *

**January 1976 – Regulus' 3rd year **

Chilly wind roaring past his ears, Regulus' fingers closed around the fluttering golden snitch. He swallowed back a scream of pure adrenaline as the stands exploded in cheers and shouts.

"Aaaaaand Black's got it, folks!" Brianna McLaggen exclaimed from the commentator's box. "Slytherin wins! 240 to 110!"

That _look_ on Potter's face. Served him right for prancing about like a pissed peacock after scoring his last goals.

"Thanks for talking me down to the beaters so they didn't bother to watch me, Potter!" Regulus hollered, deeply enjoying Potter's deepening scowl.

Next to Potter, Kettleburn swung his bat in the air. "Don't flatter yourself, Black. The snitch didn't think to fly away from you because it failed to detect any magic. Must've thought you were some ugly bird."

Flume, Gryffindor's new chaser, snorted with laughter. Regulus refused to let his now forced smile wane. They could call him a squib all they liked. He had _won._

"I bet you have your grandparents' laugh, Flume." Cousin Evan, like Narcissa, could say the most awful things in a mild, almost gentle, tone. He was Slytherin's keeper, and an uncannily androgynous blonde. "Makes sense for muggles to sound like honking pigs."

Flume sneered, sweat pouring down her freckled face. "Their house is fancier than yours, Rosier. _They_ made something of themselves."

"Fancy, you say? My cousin needs a house. Near Cambridge, isn't it? Any wards?"

Her sneer became rage, but Regulus didn't miss the flash of fear. "Threaten my family again, I dare you!"

Flanked by Potter and Kettleburn, Flume accelerated towards them with the clear intent to ram them off their brooms.

Madam Hooch's shrill whistle was followed by a yanking of the Gryffindors' brooms in mid-air, and shouts about keeping it all fair play. Grinning Regulus flew towards a cheering cluster of Slytherin, Roland first among them.

Triumphantly, they walked out of the pitch. Regulus slowed for a blonde head wrapped in a Hufflepuff scarf poking out from behind his friends and teammates.

"Boooooo!" Gladys Meadowes called, arms outstretched and thumbs down as soon as she caught his gaze. A grin crinkled her eyes. "Nice catch, Reg. You better crush Ravenclaw so I'll get to cheer against you at the finals. "

Regulus smiled, his head still spinning from the rush of victory. "I'll make you _weep_ at the finals."

"Oh we will," Mulciber interjected with a nasty smile. "Now you're an athlete Black, you should aim for a cuter girlfriend."

"_You_ can piss off," Gladys snapped. "See you, Reggie."

"Mulciber, we _won_. Don't be like that." He'd made friends, or close to, from other houses in class, but if he wanted to spend time with them outside lessons, there seemed to be always someone eager to make things hard. Frustration bled into his tone. "Why-"

"Her grandmother is the reason for the Lestrange case," Mulciber cut in. The fifth year had put away his beater's bat, but his glinting muscles didn't leave a doubt what his position on the team was.

_I don't care_, was on the tip of Regulus' tongue, but he knew that wouldn't fly.

It had been the talk of all the winter : the manor (well, it had been a _minor_ manor) owned by Ladon Lestrange had been razed to the ground last month, two days after the destruction of Auror Fenwick's house, which itself had happened three days after the violent arrest of Peony Nott, widow of the late Theodorus Nott, led by Alastor Moody and Marisa Fenwick.

Word was that Nott shouldn't have been the only one arrested, that she had had guests that evening. Dorcas Meadowes, Gladys' grandmother, was a warden for the Ministry and an expert on floos. She had established that the Nott floo had last connected to Lestrange's manor. Crouch had therefore demanded that Ladon Lestrange turn over the list of places his floo had connected with in the last six months. When Meadowes had gone there, she'd found that the floo had been magically wiped clean, as if nobody had ever used it.

Furious, Crouch had declared it an obstruction of justice. That's when things got ugly.

The Auror team dispatched to arrest Ladon was returned to the Ministry in a shoe-box as a brood of six chicks. The Prophet had shown a picture of the note sent with the chicks. _'Next time, it'll be six broken eggs. Focus on bettering the lives of wizards instead of hindering those who do not wish to bow to muggles.' _

Crouch had _not_ taken it well. A dozen aurors had stormed the Lestrange's property at 5 AM without warning. The aurors, led once more by Moody and Fenwick, had been a decoy. A team of wardens, led by Meadowes and Headmaster Dumbledore himself, had been the real attack force.

Lestrange's 'manor' had been a charmed glass tower, of the kind that collapsed without the enchantments tethering it. The building had crashed into a pile of rubble while masked wizards had been driving the aurors away (Regulus did wonder if Bellatrix had been among them, but he didn't dare ask and she didn't write him).

Crouch had then made a speech through the Prophet and the Wireless. _'Law enforcement must be strong, because if those upholding the law lack strength, the law has no value. Strike at us, and we will strike harder. The Ministry will not tolerate such brazen defiance.' _

Now the Wizarding World was holding its breath. Bartemius Crouch (Junior) cheerfully asked every morning 'Is Daddy dead?" before picking up the Daily Prophet.

Regulus had never read the newspapers past the titles and now was even less inclined to. He had enough to worry about without being sucked into drama he could do nothing about. He couldn't see what was so bad about a Dark Lord wanting wizards to be _wizards_ instead of people who had to hide all the time and leave the world to muggles. He couldn't believe some people thought it was bad enough to _die_ over, and didn't wand to wake up one morning to find out that his cousin and Gladys' grandmother had dueled to the death (not that he was scared that Bella would lose.)

"You can't associate with those muggle-loving fools, Black, being friendly and all makes them think that's alright." A threatening smile curled Mulciber's lips. "Actually, we should be teaching Meadowes a lesson, don't you think?"

_Ugh_. "She's got nothing to do with this. You're also going to teach Crouch a lesson for being his father's son?"

Mulciber laughed. "Barty hates his old dad. He says the man's being so hard because he's power hungry and wants to clear out the competition, not because he's a muggle lover. I can kind of respect a power grab. Meadowes on the other hand..."

"You're not scared of Dumbledore coming after you?" Regulus swallowed. "Mulciber, what's _really_ got you mad? It can't be Meadowes."

Mulciber's grim smile died, giving way to something more thoughtful. More dark. "You're right... _Angelo Rizzo_, that mudblood's been boasting about spending the summer as Ravenna Marchbanks' assistant."

Regulus' eyes widened. Ms. Marchbranks was high up at International Cooperations. A summer job like that in sixth year? That wouldn't be happening unless they meant to give him a position there right after his NEWTs.

Poison twisted Mulciber's features. "The light faction's so bloody eager to prop their beloved mudbloods on a pedestal, they're shutting _us_ out. Rizzo's got good marks, so what? What does he know of our world? He's going make a fool of himself in front of the Roman Council and humiliate us all."

Mulciber's family had split from their Roman ancestors in the seventeenth century, but they had never lost contact, and it was no secret Mulciber aimed to get into international politics and go live in Italy.

"I was tempted to write Marchbanks, but..." Mulciber sighed through clenched teeth, his arms outstretched as if to throttle an invisible enemy. "I... I don't have the words, Black. I don't know how they could even _consider_ Rizzo-"

Some families were part of the Ministry and others _were_ the Ministry, never quite at the heart of power but always _there_, no matter which faction held the political power. The most striking example had to be Griselda Marchbanks, Ravenna's grandmother, who had examined OWL and NEWTs students since before Albus Dumbledore had sat his exams.

"- to him?"

"What?" Regulus said, realizing the bigger boy was now staring at him.

"We'll need to do something... subtle. Something that'll show Marchbranks the mudblood's utterly unsuited." Mulciber eyes lit up in a way that made Regulus shiver. "Be ready to act."

Regulus couldn't remember volunteering to help, but it was too late to back out now.

He was soon tasked with finding a cat nobody would miss for a few days. He had no idea why Mulciber wanted a bloody _cat_. Regulus hesitated to just grab one of the first years' pets. Diane Glanville had a cat and she was nobody. But she still was a _Slytherin_ nobody, a pureblood (for all her father wasn't), and it felt wrong. Fortunately, Regulus spotted a few days later a gray lop-eared cat chasing rats near the Quidditch field. He was quick to bag it.

Avery faked a note from a girl Rizzo liked to get the sixth year to come alone on the fourth floor between classes. Regulus wasn't there when they shoved the potion down his throat. It was a potion that forced the animagus change of people who were close to mastering the transformation. Rizzo had made no secret of being a small hawk, and close to becoming a full animagus.

The lop-eared cat had been kept in a cage with only water for three days. It hissed in hunger when the stunned hawk was brought before him. When the cage holding it vanished, the cat ravenously dived for its prey.

It was at that moment that Regulus was shoved by Mulciber in the empty classroom alongside Snape and Avery. He'd never forget the crunching sound of wing-bone shattered by feline teeth. The blood squirting from the hawks' neck amidst animal snarls and the sudden, ear-wrenching and terribly human, howl of agony. A wave of magic blasted the cat against the stone wall, crushing its skull on impact. Rizzo, man-shaped once more, in the way a half-torn bleeding twisted body could be called_ man-shaped_, gasped for air, unconscious despite the moans escaping his torn mouth.

Regulus forced in a breath when it was clear there would be no second instance of accidental magic.

"We don't want a dead body on our hands," Snape muttered, paler than usual.

_Yes, dead. If his magic hadn't awakened like this, Rizzo would be _dead_._

"We won't have one," Mulciber said, looking almost disappointed as he vanished all traces of the cage that had held the cat. "Let's go. They'll find him soon. The Ravens hold a debate club here every Wednesday."

It was chalked as an accident, to Rizzo wanting to hasten his transformation and not taking the necessary precautions. To wanting his housemates to find him as a hawk, and not counting on a cat passing by. Being highly disoriented during one's first full animagus transformation was hardly uncommon. Some Ravenclaws pushed for a more thorough investigation, so the potion remnants analyzed in Rizzo's stomach were analysed. They were declared to be commercial quality, something nobody save the more talented NEWTs students could have brewed. They were interrogated and found innocent. No more interrogations took place. Rizzo was cocky, and few were surprised. The cat's claws had dug in his brain, and the day of the attack was just one of many things he struggled to remember. He'd woken up blind and had to be transferred to Saint Mungo's. It wasn't clear whether he'd regain full use of his arms.

Everyone felt sorry for the poor dead cat. _Macbeth_. Brianna McLaggen was inconsolable.

"You made that potion." Weeks had passed before Regulus had been able to bring himself to ask and even now he whispered, half-wishing Snape would pretend not to hear and snap at him to practice his transfigurations.

The silence stretched, heavy. "You heard the aurors, it was commercial," Snape finally said, his expression neutral. Too neutral.

"Hey Snape, Black, come sit with us!" Avery called. "We have something for you."

Regulus hesitated, but Snape did not. So Regulus followed to where Mulciber, Avery, and Cousin Evan were sitting. Neither Avery nor Mulciber looked like they had nightmares. Mulciber's smile was unusually friendly as he handed Severus a package.

It was book of potions recipes, a rare translation from the look of it, and a box of ingredients.

"Brew the Fire Whisperer Elixir, Severus," Avery said. "I'll bring it to the Slug Club. It'll be easy to make Slughorn extend an invitation to its brewer without knowing it's you, and then he won't be able to rescind it. Wear those new robes Black gave you last year."

Cynicism dripped from Snape's every word. "You truly believe that -"

"Slughorn lets halfbloods in, and worse. Cresswell said he's mentioned wanting to invite that mudblood Evans." Snape's eyes widened at the admission. His jaw had clenched at _mudblood_ but he said nothing. After a tense pause, Mulciber's eyes glinted in approval. "You've got talent, Snape, and you're one of us now, so no more skulking in the shadows."

There was something patronizing and hungry tightening Mulcibers' eyes. But Snape wasn't looking at the older boy. He was looking at the book with a fierce hunger of his own. "What do you want in exchange?"

Mulciber's smile broadened. It was an easy smile, so much that Regulus relaxed slightly, realizing perhaps _this_ was what friendship was like with people like Mulciber. "Nothing, you paranoid ape. This is thanks for last time. You help me out again, well... that's how great partnerships work. Maybe we'll even be friends. That's as much on you as on me, Snape."

_That_ was met with a sardonic smile. "Whatever. Thank you."

Mulciber chuckled and clasped Snape's shoulder. "Never thought I'd hear you say it. Happy studying."

Regulus' gift was also a book. A guide for second sons and daughters thrust into Lordship.

"For the future Lord Black."

_What-_ "I'm not -"

Mulciber scoffed. "_Look_ at your brother. Listen to him. You're only doomed to be in second place if you keep acting like it. Act the part, Black. You sorted Slytherin. Dig up that buried ambition."

"Sirius is a traitor, you can either let him drag the family down, or make him irrelevant." Cousin Evan smiled, his eyes softening at Regulus. "Don't worry, we'll help. Things are changing, we can make our own future now. Houses Rosier and Black will rise again."

Regulus wasn't a stranger to flattery. Already as a child he'd realized that adults seeking him at functions didn't genuinely think him _that_ cute or interesting but wanted _something. _Information, his parent's favor, to sniff out weaknesses... And yet hearing that the guys expected him to become _Lord_... Regulus couldn't squash the pride filling his lungs, the hunger to be something other than _the other Black_. Than Sirius' kid brother.

_Could they truly believe it?_

_Why would they waste their time on Regulus if they didn't?_

* * *

In their dorm, Roland sat on the top bunk, his legs swinging. "You know they're buying you, right?"

"I think it's working..." Regulus admitted glumly. And yet he wasn't all that upset. He was proud even. Only... wary. "Don't worry, you're still my best friend."

"Just be careful. That's why I like being a dressmaker's son. No matter who wins, people need robes. You never hear of plots to assassinate the _dressmaker_."

Regulus shivered, Rizzo's shattered wings, his flayed body, flashing behind his eyes.

In truth, he liked his life at Hogwarts. The classes, his classmates (mostly), his teachers, the comfort of knowing where you had to be and what you had to learn, Quidditch, and of course the castle itself. Why couldn't it be enough? Why couldn't ambition be just... _living_?

And yet he couldn't deny that being allowed to sit there, with Mulciber and Avery made him feel like he was truly _someone._

He pulled his knees to his chin and hid his face against his legs with a sigh.

"I know," Roland said sympathetically. "I'm not jealous, Reggie."

* * *

**Thanks for reading and don't hesitate to share your thoughts!**


	18. R: The New Black Heir

**1976 spring – Regulus' 3****rd**** year**

Regulus liked to think he'd found a good medium between being a dedicated student and not wasting his youth in books. But with exam season now looming, he was beginning to regret all the studying he hadn't done. He had nightmares of Father glancing at him and then turning away with a disappointed curl to his lips, and Sirius teasing him, because of course Sirius had all O's and E's. He told Roland he had a letter to write, not willing to admit he was rushing to the library in a panic at 9PM hoping to charm Madam Pince into telling him what the third year Ravenclaws had been checking out the most often in Runes and Herbology.

He had just leaped off the moving staircase when his legs froze. In stead of his shoes, two red quaffles, each half as heavy as Regulus himself, weighted him down.

_Sirius and Potter._ Without their vassals for once. Regulus stiffened but didn't take his wand out : when he didn't fight back, Sirius would quickly get bored and leave.

"Blimey, are we still sore about that Quidditch match?" _How did they always know when he was alone? Did they stealthily prowl the corridors all day long searching for victims?_

"This isn't about Quidditch." Something in Sirius' expression had Regulus' fingers curl inside his wand pocket after all. "We're here to find out what happened to Mary McDonald. Since you're pals with Mulciber and all."

Chill seeped into Regulus' bones. "I don't know. Didn't ask, don't care."

"'Course you didn't," Sirius said, his jaw clenched and his gaze flat. "Sums up your life. Looking the other way to stay snug among the worst kind of wizards."

An exasperated hiss left Regulus' lips. "I don't know what he did! I know they fought and shouted. I know he ended up obliviating her. I doubt it was anything sexual if that's what you're worried about."

"My bet was the cruciatus," Sirius said coolly. "I'd have told McGonagall to cast a Priory Incantatem, but we know he used someone else's wand."

Mulciber had gone on a rampage when he'd lost his wand. _Of course it had been the Marauders._

Regulus gasped in pain as Sirius shoved him. With his legs weighted down, it was like being slammed into a wall. "It better not have been _your_ wand!"

"Black, this wasn't a prank. This was a crime. You've got to know it's messed up."

"Sure Potter, I just love to be attacked in the corridors to get a lesson on what's messed up," Regulus snapped. "I _don't know_. You're wasting your time. Get Dumbledore to investigate if it's a _crime_."

"I bet Snivellus knows," Sirius said after a tense pause.

Potter looked skeptical. "McDonald is Evans' friend. Evans must have asked. You think he'd lie to her face ?"

"Well...yeah. We may have found the way to prove to Evans that he's a worm."

Regulus had to laugh. "This is actually about getting into Lily Evans' pants, isn't it?"

Potter flushed but Sirius just snorted. "There's no way you don't know what Mulciber's been up to."

"He's a sixth year. Unlike you, he hasn't made a habit of standing on tables to boast of his achievements to the whole common room."

"We do that?" Potter said with a frown. A slight smile tugged at his lips. "_Should_ we be doing that?" The smile died quickly. "Black, _crucio_ isn't just an argument going wrong. It's an unforgivable! What's next, murder?"

Rizzo's claw-torn body flashed before Regulus' eyes. He refused to lower his gaze. "I don't _know_ what Mulciber -"

"Then you should find out!" Sirius' voice was low and stern and suddenly so much like _Father_ that Regulus cringed. He stumbled as Sirius undid the transfigurations on his boots and gave him back the freedom to move his legs. His brother's scornful scoff grated on his ears. "Look at you, it's _never_ your fault, you _never_ know, as if you weren't making choices every step of the way." He opened his arms theatrically. "Reggie, the oblivious Death Eater!"

"Piss off. You don't get to lecture me about choices." _How dare Sirius! How dare he hex him, shove him around and treat him like dirt._ "Every time, you attack me! You insult me! Everything _I_ do, you take for granted! I'm still waiting for some gratitude for not letting you starve after you painted your room red and gold."

"What do you two mean _starve_?"

They both ignored Potter.

Sirius had the gall to scoff. "Are you also still waiting for Mother's apology for having murdered Mr. Allen ? Or is it fine, because it's _Mummy. _People like her, like Mulciber, Avery, or your pal Snape -"

"Is a half-blood who's friends with a muggleborn, you buffon! Your life is such a scream for attention you just _must_ invent enemies."

"Invent?" Sirius barked a mirthless laugh. "I don't need to invent -"

"Right. You chose to make the_ nameless halfblood _your main target by _accident. _It's pure _chance_ that your best friend happens to be another pureblood heir." Inside his robes, Regulus hand curled tighter around his wand. "You're no different than those you claim to despise!"

Sirius pulled out his wand and jabbed it at Regulus purposefully. "Stupefy!"

"Protego!" Sirius' eyes widened in shock as the shield blocked his stunner. "Levicorpus!"

Sirius' feet were snatched off the ground. Regulus grinned in triumph. _There you go, brother, underestimating me_. The spell broke and Sirius crashed shoulders first against the hard floor with a crack.

Sirius unexpectedly laughed through the pain and grabbed Potter's wand hand to pull himself up, diverting his best friend's wand away from Regulus. "Nice spell. You know, I think I like it better when you stop pretending you want to be on my side. Because you never did want that, not truly. You always were on _theirs_."

"Merlin, you're such a tosser, I -"

"Yes, pretend _I_ am the problem. Keep looking the other way when Mother and Father murder people, when they claim muggleborn should be drowned at birth and squibs poisoned in their sleep! When they act like they have a right to erase Meda. When they torture _their own child!_ They'd go to Azkaban if they did to another wizard what they did to me!"

"You just want to have it all, the Lord title, the manor and the wealth, but still behave like some wild _beast,_" Regulus spat. "You get off on humiliating people! How many have you sent to the hospital wing? I bet you'll murder someone with your _pranks_ eventually, and just find good Gryffindor excuses to soothe your conscience."

"Run away before I hex you for real, Regulus." Next to his furious brother, Potter was just staring, looking uncharacteristically overwhelmed and confused.

_Whatever_. There was nothing left to say. As Regulus left, his racing heart pounding in his ears, he furiously wondered why he kept wishing for Sirius and him to mend things. As if things had ever not been broken. As if waiting for Sirius to act like a proper big brother was anything but foolish dreams.

Cousin Evan had been right. Sirius would make a piss poor Lord Black. He had no loyalty, he thought of nothing but feeding his own sense of superiority. He judged Mulciber and the others, but _these_ were the people who'd welcomed Regulus, who wanted to help him become _someone_. Sirius had only ever kicked him down.

The world was a harsh place, and Regulus had found his allies. If Mulciber had hexed that mudblood McDonald and obliviated her, so what? Mulciber had won and made sure not to get in trouble. He'd forced the whole school to respect him with one move. What was wrong with that? If McDonald had known her place, nothing would have happened to her.

Sirius just didn't like the idea of people competing with him for status. He didn't like that there were people who didn't bow to the Marauders. _Tough_, Regulus was done being in his brother's shadow.

* * *

"You showed Black _Levicorpus_?" Snape hissed. They were in Snape's rooms. Regulus had been too late to the library and, despairing, figured Snape, who hoarded books like some ink-loving niffler, might have something to lend him.

"You're just annoyed you weren't there when I flipped him arse-over-head."

"Yes," Snape admitted. His smile was fleeting. He was paler than usual these days, with nasty bags under his eyes. "But now he'll know to use it."

"Come off it, he won't know it just from having it cast at him once."

Snape just stared at him and Regulus dropped his gaze._ Why?_ Why did _he_ have to be the one who struggled when everything came so easily to everyone else? Severus invented spells in his spare time while Regulus worked _so hard_ and barely scraped Es, let alone _invented_ anything. It had taken him days to master _Levicorpus_.

"I want to try something," Snape suddenly said. "Think about your fight with Black."

"Okay..." Regulus stiffened when the taller boy pointed his wand straight at his face.

"_Legilimens_."

Regulus' eyes widened in shock. He was thrown back to the evening. Sirius. The shouts and accusations. The curses. His satisfaction at having _Levicorpus_ strike. His hate for his brother.

Eyes blurring, he gasped and stumbled forwards as his mind released him. Snape steadied him, a peculiar and alarming glint in his black eyes.

"Try it on me now"

"What, legilimency? It's beyond NEWTs level, don't be a git."

Faced with Snape's flat judgmental glare, Regulus took a deep breath and tried. He tried again. Swallowing back his frustration, he tried _again_ after Snape tried to explain some mind theory. After ten unending minutes of abject failure, he got fed up.

"Why do you care if I can't see in your mind? It's hilarious coming from you." Snape had to be one of the most closed off people Regulus knew. They'd known each other three years but they couldn't be called _friends_. Snape only kept up the tutoring because he needed the money, and the access to high status people that Regulus gave him.

"Funny you said your brother would end up a murderer," Snape muttered, his lips pinched in a thin line.

Regulus swallowed back his temper. Snape looked _really_ terrible. "You're worried about yourself?"

Somehow that was _too_ personal a question. Regulus awkwardly pulled out some homework. Patiently sitting down sometimes got the gloomy older boy to open up.

This time it didn't. Regulus couldn't have known what had transpired the previous full moon. That Snape had made a vow not to speak. Regulus wouldn't learn for years, why Snape had wanted to be legilimized then.

* * *

**Late June 1976 - Regulus' 3rd year**

Regulus hadn't realized before how much people, not just the Marauders, hated Snape. And not just Snape, but most of Slytherin. Perhaps he just hadn't wanted to notice.

He wasn't the reason Snape had been humiliated in front of half the school, but he was the one who'd shown Sirius and Potter _Levicorpus_. Regulus hated how that made him feel small and goofy. He hated even more that Snape had been right : the Marauders had just had to be shown the spell once.

The year was coming to a close. Exams were over and the day was warm. Many students were lounging outside. Regulus was walking at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, enjoying the view on Hogwarts, and the quiet. Hogwarts looked so much more inviting, more playful, when there was nobody around.

He slowed when he spotted Evans and McDonald on the grass. McDonald was lying propped on her stomach, drawing, her long brown hair spilling over discarded sketches of the castle. Next to her Evans sat eyes closed, facing the sun, her milky skin pleasantly flushed from the heat.

They hadn't noticed him, and so he could stare. There was no question why Potter and Snape were fighting over _her_. Evans was hot, and loud in that way Gryffindors respected. And for all of Snape's airs, Narcissa had turned him into an eager puppy just with some attention and smiles, so no wonder Evans had the boy wrapped around her little finger.

Impulsively, Regulus pulled his camera out and shot picture. The girls in the foreground, Hogwarts in the back, and in between oblivious students just... living. It felt like a school then, with none of the stifling undercurrents and power plays that darkened their days.

"_Reducto_!"

Caught up in his camera, Regulus didn't see the blast until his hands were full of dust. He gasped in shock and then blinked dumbly at where his camera had just been.

McDonald, her sketches forgotten, was standing with her wand pointed straight at him. "Go away, Black!" she snarled. "_Stu-_"

The hex fizzled as Evans grabbed onto McDonald's wand. "Mary! Don't!"

"Are you insane?" Regulus spluttered. _His camera_. _That beast had disintegrated his camera._

"_Me_, _I'_m insane? For thinking that a picture of me in _your _camera could mean a death sentence? For thinking someone may take offence at me for daring to exist?" She violently shook Evans off her, her wand now pointed at the ground. "I'm not sure I'm even coming back next year, Lily. I'm fed up, _fed up_ to have to fight for the right to be human! You heard Sirius, their cousin Bellatrix is one of _them_."

Regulus opened his mouth.

"You _don't_ think it's dangerous for Mary, Black?" Evans' voice was softer but her stare was hard and her wand was pointed at Regulus' knees.

Regulus blinked, at a loss. "I... I think Snape is miserable and that you should talk to him."

McDonald snorted. A weird laugh escaped her lips and she abruptly turned her back on Regulus and went to collect her unfinished sketches. "I'm so done here."

"Did Sev send you?" Evans said wearily, her arms crossed.

"No. I sent myself. Listen, he lashed out at you only because he'd never been so humiliated, I know he's been apologi-"

The look on Evans' face had him stop. "Black, what does Sev do when other Slytherins use that word? Call them out? Leave the conversation?"

Regulus opened his mouth again but for once his brain was empty.

"Yeah, I thought so. He's wrong, you know : I'm not an _exception_. I'm just another muggleborn. I can't be friends with someone who can't respect me."

"But he _does_, and he loves you." It was weird saying it, Snape would punch him, but it was so bloody _obvious_.

Evans shut her eyes briefly. "It's not enough. He can be friends with people who think muggleborn aren't people as long as they respect _him_. I can't. I won't apologize for it." She took a sharp breath. "I'm... I'm surprised. I didn't expect you'd willingly talk to someone like me. What do _you_ say, when your friends say _mudblood_?"

Regulus blinked. "I'm... I'm not political." And anyway, it was just a word. It wasn't his fault they came from nothing.

Evans shook her head in disbelief. "It's not politics, Black. It's people's _lives!_"

The girls left and there was no dignified way he could go after them. He flushed at having being dismissed so rudely, by two mudbloods at that, and fury at the destruction of his camera soon replaced his shock. The camera cousin Cissy had given him.

_Did they truly think they could get away with destroying his belongings? What did they think, that he'd do nothing? That he'd not tell? Mulciber would be delighted to – _Regulus swallowed, something bitter dousing his temper.

No, he'd not tell Mulciber. He could fight his own battles. He had all summer to think about how to make sure McDonald would never think to cross him anymore.

His shoulders stiffened as he met Snape's gaze at dinner. He hated this new awkwardness and blamed Sirius for it. He went to sit next to the older Slytherin, refusing to let his brother ruin things further. "Any books you want me to get from Father's library for you? I'm not allowed to take them out of the house, but it won't be hard to make Sirius take the fall for it." He smiled tightly. "You can get me a list."

Snape stared at his food as he ate in silence, but finally he bowed his head lightly. "I will. I _am_ still going to tutor you next year, Black."

Regulus smiled in relief. "Good."

* * *

**Summer 1976**

Sirius had run away.

To the Potters.

Mother was beside herself. _'Cygnus is too soft, if that muggle-loving bint had been appropriately punished, the boy would never have dared!'_

Father was quieter, but obviously furious. He and Mother had begun blaming each other. Regulus couldn't remember his parents ever fighting so much.

_Sirius wasn't coming back._

Regulus couldn't remember the last thing he'd said to his brother. Something angry, no doubt. _When was the last time they'd had fun together? _

_'You just want to have it all,'_ he'd accused Sirius, except now his brother had given it all up. Because he hated them. He'd always hated them.

Regulus decided he was going to be relieved. Happy. There was no reason to feel anything else. He was heir now. It was a privilege. Father was healthy, there was ample time for Regulus to grow into his new role. He just had to prove he was good enough so Mother and Father would stop being upset about Sirius.

Yes, this was no doubt for the best.

"Oh stop moping!"

Regulus started, bolting upright. He'd been sitting in the tapestry room, staring at the scorch mark that was now his brother. He hadn't slept well in days, and he'd gotten tired of staring at his bedroom's ceiling. It was six in the morning and even Kreacher was supposed to be asleep. _Bellatrix, _in tight black robes with her heavy curls pinned back, was not someone he'd been expecting.

"Come, I'm going to take your mind off your silly brother. You're going to assist me." She smiled conspiratorially. "The Dark Lord will be there."

_What-_ Regulus' words stuck in his throat as Bellatrix dragged him back to his room and summoned a set of robes out of his closet. He... he wasn't _ready_! _What could he possibly show the Dark Lord that -. The Dark Lord would -. _

"Does -" _Does Mother know? _He'd been about to say, but it now felt terribly childish and he didn't need to make himself any smaller in front of Cousin Bella. "What about Snape?"

"Who? What about?"

"He's been tutoring me since first year, hasn't Cissy told you about him? She likes him. He invents spells and everything." He _did_ owe Snape for that Levicorpus cock up, and it couldn't hurt to be _two_ for a mission. And next to the half-blood, Regulus would be able to show he was... well, _well-bred._ "I know where he lives." Before Regulus had come to Hogwarts, some boys had sent their owls to follow the castle owl Snape used. Now people had stopped taunting Snape about that muggle hovel in Cokeworth, but everyone still _knew_.

"Fine, baby cousin, the Dark Lord will forgive you for wanting to bring a pet."

Regulus refused to squirm under Bellatrix's condescending smirk. He mustered his best superior smile. "Trust me, he's a good pet."

That earned him a laugh. "Oh, he'd better be! I'd hate to waste my time."

Spinner's End _was_ a square brick hovel, in a street full of dreary identical hovels. An awful stench came in wafts from an immense chimney a quarter mile away and the river... _What had the muggles done to that poor river? How could anyone accept to live in a place like this? _He couldn't fool himself into thinking the place was abandoned because despite the early hour, voices, sometimes loud ones, came from the open windows.

Bellatrix grimaced. "It's like being home again. Look at that street muggle."

A bearded man snored into a pile of rags at the edge of the street. _Animals_. Regulus wiped sweat from his brow. Their muggle disguise was too heavy for the season, and too rich for this place. He couldn't wait to get out of here.

"Can't you detect magic?"

Her wand poking out of her sleeve, Bellatrix's scowl soon became a deep frown. "Sure he's half- and not a mudblood? I don't -. Ah, here," she finally exclaimed, pointing at one of the identical houses. "_barely_."

She knocked once and invited herself in. The inside... could have been worse. Clean was too strong a word, but it wasn't filthy despite a nasty stench of stale smoke. Everything was worn, cheap, and... muggle. No sign of magic. No portraits, no floating lights, not even a book. Not that Regulus could see any _muggle_ books in the cramped living-room. Odd, considering Snape spent half his life reading.

"Heck are _you_?"

Two muggles had been seated in the small kitchen, dirty breakfast dishes on the counter behind them. The man, wearing a sleeveless white shirt and threadbare gray pants, stood up. With a ruddy complexion and a lean but square built, he looked little like Snape. Still it had to be Mr. Snape, because the dark-haired woman next to him couldn't be mistake for anyone other than Snape's mother.

"We'll be borrowing the lad for the day," Bellatrix announced, her wand now obviously on display.

"Jesus. SEVERUS! PEOPLE FOR YOU! Excuse me, youngsters, I gotta go work."

The man didn't hide that they weren't welcome, but mostly, he seemed set on ignoring them. He slipped on a sleeveless coat and strode past them, slamming the door shut as he left.

Standing stiff, Regulus shot a look at Bellatrix. But she seemed unfazed by the muggle's rudeness, instead she stared hungrily at Snape's mother.

"This is no witch's house. Are you a squib? How did a squib and a muggle beget a boy who impressed Cissy with his magic?"

_That_ scowl was Snape too. "We haven't been introduced, Miss -"

"_Mrs_. Lestrange." Mrs. Snape flinched. "Born Black." The woman flinched again, the last remains of color sucked from her sallow face. "Regulus Black, my cousin and heir to the Black name."

"She's a witch, not a squib," a new voice snapped. Their Snape had finally appeared, disheveled and clad in overlarge muggle clothes that looked like his father's castoffs. "What are you doing here, Black?"

"Rescuing you," Bellatrix answered in Regulus' stead, without sparing Snape a look. She was still staring at Mrs. Snape, shaking her head. "What _happened_?"

It was more than disbelief lacing her voice, Bellatrix sounded _uneasy_. Regulus swallowed, unnerved by his cousin's peculiar attitude.

"You should go-"

Bellatrix's arm moved in a blur. "_Legilimens_!" she breathed, cutting Mrs. Snape's answer short.

"What are you doing here, Black?" Snape repeated in a clenched whisper, his eyes locked on the wand Bellatrix had pointed at his now wide-eyed mother.

"Get some real clothes, _good_ clothes," Regulus replied, hoping he sounded certain and imperious and not like things were getting out of control. "We're going somewhere. You'll be wanting to impress people. Hurry."

Mirthless laughter suddenly bubbled out of Bellatrix's lips. "Father would approve," she said with a hard smile as she lowered her wand.

Disoriented, Mrs. Snape grasped the kitchen chair for support. A snarl twisted her face. "Get out! Get OUT!" Regulus recognized that brand of fury : he'd seen Mother like that, when she'd lost face. Only Mother never lost control like that in _public_.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Prince," Bellatrix said with a mock curtsy. She grabbed onto Snape and Regulus. They apparated in nondescript hills. "We're going near Norwich, give me a second to catch my breath. And transfigure those rags, Snape."

Regulus swallowed. A_pparition from London to the Midlands and the Midlands to Norwich. With side-alongs._ His stomach churned, and not just from the apparition's tug. He felt increasingly insignificant, and increasingly worried.

"What did you see in my mother's mind, Mrs. Lestrange?" Snape's voice was cautiously polite, but his expression betrayed a strong effort in self-control. Plain robes had replaced his muggle clothes.

"She's cursed. Your lovely grandpa burned her wand core after she eloped, it's useless for anything but the most basic magics. She got reported for endangering the statute, by her brother I think; it left her without a knut after she'd paid all the fines. Daddy dear cursed her: she can't send an owl to anyone but him and can't go near the Leaky Cauldron"

"I've received owls from her." Snape didn't mention Diagon Alley, and now Regulus wondered who had taken him there for Hogwarts supplies.

"You're her blood, Prince blood. And you only received answers to letters you'd sent first, I bet." Snape's expression betrayed that Bellatrix was right. "She could have told you... It's not the kind of curse that can't be undone. She could have asked _anyone_ for help on Platform 9 and 3/4, mind you... But your mummy is _proud_ and certain you'd run off to your grandparents, choose them over her..." An ugly chuckle left Bellatrix's lips. "Morgana, she's pathetic."

Snape looked petrified. It took him a full ten seconds to open his mouth again. "What of my father, was anything done to him?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Ask her. If she won't answer, you know the spell to cast."

The silence was heavy and awkward. Snape's unblinking eyes were far away, something ugly stiffening his jaw, and Regulus could only stare at Bellatrix as she took out a chocolate bar and started munching on it.

"What did Sirius tell you about Andromeda?" Bellatrix suddenly said, brushing chocolate crumbs off her robes. They were too formal for sitting on a log and embarrassingly distracting, with all that cleavage. "I know he talks to her."

'_Andromeda_' wasn't a name he'd heard spoken by his cousin in _years_. Regulus froze. "I... "

"Don't make me legilimize you, baby cousin."

He took a slow breath. "She... she's happy. Sirius said so, at least." And he understood now, why Bellatrix had been staring like that at Mrs. Snape. The witch who'd left her family for a muggle.

Bellatrix made an odd humming noise.

"He..." Regulus dropped his voice, so Snape wouldn't hear, "Mother thinks the family was too soft on Andromeda, that's why Sirius dared leave. I heard no definite plans but maybe she means to do something."

Something shifted in Bellatrix's expression. "I'll talk to Auntie." She said it softly, almost absently, yet a shiver ran up Regulus' spine.

"Time to go," Bellatrix suddenly announced. "Wipe off that murder-face Snape, you'll scare the Dark Lord."

Snape almost choked as Bellatrix snickered at her own joke. He shot a furious look at Regulus, one that screamed _you could have warned me!_. Regulus smiled faintly. He was the heir now: if he couldn't be confident, he had to fake it. But his shoulders were stiff and his hands clammy as his cousin grabbed his upper arm once more.

They apparated near a stone and timber cottage, obviously magical but crooked and slightly crumbling, one of those houses held together by layered poor-quality enchantments that, for the most part, had never been designed to weather the test of time. Common houses for common wizards, but they had their charm, with trees entwined with the walls and birdnests in the hatched roof. From the outside, the cottage looked small and cozy, but inside no doubt, everyone had more than comfortable space (and one had to be careful when a grandmother or great-uncle died, because all the spellwork dissolved with them. Terrible accidents had happened when rooms had vanished with their occupants still in them).

There was a garden, but one much smaller than expected, barely a acre of grass, bushes and thick trees. Beyond the wooden arch that signaled the edge of the houses' wards there were only a few scattered trees. What had once been green hills was now a tiny bastion of nature in the middle of tall wheat fields so vast they covered the horizon.

A hard faced man in brown outdoors robes came out of the house, followed by Rodolphus Lestrange. The former bowed with his hand on his heart.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lestrange. I can't overstate how grateful I am."

Bellatrix inclined her head back with a smile. Regulus was fascinated by that smile, playful, eager, _friendly_ even. This was Cousin Bella _comfortable_.

Childish voices floated from the house. Three heads, belonging to kids between four and nine, appeared behind one of the open windows. The youngest waved. Rodolphus grinned and waved back, causing the kids to duck out of sight, badly muffling giggles.

"Mr. Nettles and his family have been here for two hundred years, Cousin," Rodolphus said, clasping Regulus' shoulder. It was a warm, manly clasp. Regulus smiled slightly despite his nervousness. "Used to be a nice place. Until muggles decided every inch of the land was theirs."

"We're here to make some space." Bellatrix's smile had grown into something... threatening. _This_ was the Bellatrix his parents were afraid of.

She rolled her left sleeve backwards, revealing the snake-and-skull mark of the Dark Lord. She pressed against it with her fingers. The snake, and the skin below it, moved, as if greeting her back.

A thin dark mist filled the air and dissipated to reveal Lord Voldemort.

Regulus bowed. Better than standing there like a cowering idiot.

"We meet again, Regulus." He blinked at Snape. "This one I do not now." His tone was soft, neutral, and yet it took all of Regulus' discipline to not look intimidated. He could _taste_ the magic, dark magic, it was faint but it _shouldn't_ have been. Places pulsed with magic, manors and old places full of history, not _people_.

"Half-blood," Bellatrix said in way of introductions. "Good at magic. Slytherin."

"Severus Snape, my Lord. I'm honored to meet you."

"No doubt." The Dark Lord said, a mocking edge to his tone. "Show me a spell I don't know, Severus."

Sweat broke out from Regulus' brow. _Would he be asked that next ?_ _What spell could he -? _He frantically began thinking of all the obscure dressmaking spell Roland had shown him. Surely -

He was too caught up to even notice the spell that shot straight for him. "_B__ombizatio auris_!"

Regulus' hands flew to his ears as his knees buckled. _You tosser, Snape!_ He _knew_ that bloody curse. The buzzing dug like a dagger in his brain. He couldn't help shaking his head like a mad cow to get it to _stop_. He took a shuddering breath when Snape finally lifted the spell.

"It's like a wasp was stuck inside my ear," Regulus said, straightening as if everything was _fine_, as if he'd not just being terribly undignified. After all, he _had_ recommended Snape, and the Dark Lord doubtless expected to see effective curses. Perhaps Regulus could make people respect him as someone who _found_ talent. "It's incapacitating because I can't think of anything else."

"Does it hurt?" Bellatrix asked eagerly.

"No -"

"It doesn't pay to physically hurt others at Hogwarts," Snape cut in. "I need to be more subtle."

"Cast it on me." Snape faltered. Bellatrix opened her arms invitingly. "Oh, come on! And don't hold back."

Snape didn't. Bellatrix gasped, her eyes glazing over and her head twitching. She yelped when the Dark Lord hit her with a stinging curse. He'd cast verbally, slowly even, and Regulus felt vindicated that even _Bellatrix_ had been too distracted to fight back.

A few seconds later Bellatrix straightened. She'd... _silenced herself wordlessly?_

A few spells shot out of her wand, and finally she undid the silence.

"_Finite_ counters it. Craft curses that need their own specific counter, Snape, it's _much_ more effective." She laughed, a pleased laugh like she was actually having fun. "Not too bad for a half-blood."

"Not bad, for any wizard, let alone a teenager." The Dark Lord interjected, causing Snape to straighten and look back at the older wizard with something other than fear. "Oh, no one will forget your blood, but you might make it so that no one will bring it up to your face, ever."

Bellatrix smirked then, as if she knew something they didn't. Lord Voldemort shot her a warning look and her smirk became a full grin. Regulus marveled at his cousin's familiarity. She stood much closer to the Dark Lord than her own husband did. Rodolphus did not look scared, but he acted much more subdued and deferential.

"Enough talk," Bellatrix announced. She strode over to Regulus and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, her other arm pointed at the fields. "There's our problem. You get to solve it."

He'd know there would be a test. Staring at the sea of wheat, he willed himself to believe it wasn't beyond him. Surely, Cousin Bella wouldn't want him to look _bad_. "So... Like fire?"

"Baby cousin, you sound like a child when you make everything a question."

Regulus flushed. He flushed harder when Bellatrix pinched his cheek with that smirk of hers.

"A fire here will spread against the wind, my Lord, and make the muggles very confused. Unless plans have changed, I understood we didn't want Ministry attention today."

The Dark Lord nodded slightly at Rodolphus. "Indeed. Follow me." He vanished.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix apparated them, somehow aware of the Dark Lord's exact location.

And now the Dark Lord was staring at them expectantly.

Regulus raised his wand, his throat dry. The scenery hadn't changed : wheat, for miles and miles. _Incendio_ wouldn't cut it. _He'd need hundreds of -_

Something hot and bright had him suddenly turn. Flames poured out of Snape's wand, hot and hungry as they poured over fifty yards of wheat. It wasn't simple conjured fire: the way plants still humid from yesterday's rains turned to ash betrayed dark magic.

Frustration tightened Regulus' chest. _How dare-_ But he'd just look like a whiny baby if he snarled at Snape so instead he focused on the fire, desperate not to look pathetic. But Regulus could push his own magic maybe twenty yards from his wand and all the spells he knew would look like a joke next to - _Who was he kidding, the Dark Lord expected more than third-year level light magic._

Regulus sucked in a breath and stopped pretending his heart wasn't racing and his hands weren't clammy. _He was a Black. He'd be Lord Black. He was a dark wizard._ He conjured wind and he willed it dry. He willed it _strong_. Exhaling, he poured all his fear, all his nervousness in that wind, allowing the magic to feed from him and leave him empty. He blinked as his wind fanned the flames, and relished in his own sudden calm. Smoke teared up his eyes but he dared smile slightly, satisfied, as Snape's crawling fire began to leap across the field.

"You cooperate well, Regulus," Lord Voldemort commented. "Wise, especially when one lacks power."

It wasn't _quite_ praise, but Regulus' new calm gave him the perspective to value it. He didn't have to compete for power. He had his name, he would have influence, and he didn't mind helping. His hands shook, but his wind lived on and the flames raced onwards, painting the hills with a layer of ash.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. "Shield you ears." A golden dome sprang from Bellatrix's wand and soon conjured bubble-shields covered their heads. Rodolphus' gripped the teenagers' robes, forcing them close.

They all instinctively ducked when an explosion tore through the countryside, as if someone had set a warehouse of fireworks aflame. The galloping wall of fire was now a wave, taller than Hogwarts itself, and swallowing up _everything_.

"I transfigured some of the wheat into gunpowder," the Dark Lord said, like a teacher expecting them to take notes. "A fire is only so strong as its fuel."

Regulus had been convinced by the stories, but now he saw with his own eyes, why people said this man would change the world. He'd given the wind all his fear but a brand new shiver tightened his shoulders. He stared in wonder at the acres of scorched earth that had made Snape's dark fire look like a child's attempt at magic.

They apparated again. They could see the end of the wheat fields this time, and the asphalt roads surrounding it. They stood next to a beaten earth road, still close enough to the flames for Regulus' throat to burn and sweat to pour down his neck. A house, three sheds and muggle machines stood before them. A broad man stood in front of one of the machine, staring in shock at the blazing inferno devouring his property.

Rodolphus slapped Regulus' back. His encouraging smile was oddly relaxing. "The statute is triggered when an adult muggle learns of magic. Battling obliviators, and the aurors that may follow if obliviators aren't handled quickly enough, isn't for teenagers. So stay out of sight and don't do anything muggles can't explain."

_How was Regulus supposed to know what muggles could -_

Lord Voldemort's tight-lipped smile was chilling. "Get rid of him."

_Get rid- _Regulus froze. "We're underage," he said (_said_, not stammered, he stood tall and _absolutely_ dignified and soothed himself with the feel of his wand's warm wood.) "Won't the Ministry find out magic was used here? Won't a muggle dying close to where magic was used -"

"Leave that to us," Bellatrix said, eyes alight. "We _want_ to see who's going to speak up for muggles. Don't worry, nobody will know _you_ did anything." Her smile died. "Reggie, is this too much for you?" It was a question, except it wasn't. It sharply reminded Regulus that Cousin Bella _wasn't_ someone he wanted to displease.

"No! I... I just must get closer for my spells to strike."

The muggle was too far for them to see his face, just a broad-shouldered silhouette of blue and brown clothes. He stood by the door of the house, and seemed to be hollering. Very soon, a woman and a girl of maybe twelve rushed out with two brown dogs and arms full of various objects. They clambered into the transport vehicle.

"Don't move." The Dark Lord's voice froze him in place. "The car has to pass here to reach the main road. You'll be invisible to the muggles as long as you stay close to me." _You'll have no excuse,_ Regulus heard.

"You've got to admit it's quite a feat," Rodolphus mused as the machine -the _car_\- grew closer, silent amidst the nearing fire's howls. "This muggle family managed to take everything from wizards without anyone batting an eye, on the contrary : Nettles had to spend all their savings to keep what had been theirs for centuries."

"What? What did they have to pay for?"

"The ministry warden, for the muggle repelling wards on that sad plot of land we appeared into. They used to have much more, old trees for wandwood and plants they bred and sold for potions ingredients but they couldn't pay for wards around all two hundred acres, just barely two. The muggles drown their crops with non-magical potions of their own which are poison to people : that alone means the wards must be more complex than a simple repel."

Regulus blinked. That sounded... terribly unfair. He flinched when fingers grabbed his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. The Dark Lord stared him down, his gaze cold.

"Either you fight for wizards, or you side with muggles. There is no middle ground. Use that wand, or go bow to those muggles. I have no use for passive cowards."

Regulus swallowed and raised his wand. He wouldn't be _passive_. He wouldn't be looked down upon. The Dark Lord was the future and he wanted to be part of it. Less than a minute now, and the car would be close enough. He could see the back of the girl's head, staring at the house, and the fire, as she cradled one of the large dogs.

A hole appeared in the road. The car slammed into it and flipped, crashing on its back, the wheels turning uselessly.

The muggle man's face, smashed upside-down against the windscreen left no doubt of his fate.

"Unlock the car doors, Severus. Regulus needs to stop hiding behind you."

Regulus' wide eyes shot to Snape. _The hole in the road, he'd -?_ The taller boy's jaw was clenched, fierce determination narrowing his black eyes. Regulus swallowed, hating himself for being so indecisive. _He should have done that. He could have done that, and he _should _have._

"They're open, my Lord," Snape said. The older teen locked eyes with Regulus, his eyes defiant. As if this was a competition.

Regulus clenched his jaw and turned back to the road. The dogs bolted out of the upturned car first. The girl crawled out next. Round-faced, chubby, with messy blonde hair and tears streaming down her face.

_It had to look muggle-plausible._ Regulus' hands shook. Because of the situation. Because just minutes earlier, he'd used fear to fuel a spell and showed his magic that fear made him more powerful, so his own magic encouraged fear.

The teenager jabbed his wand at the dogs. "_Impetus_!" A sentinel spell, to get mindless live transfigurations to attack intruders. A call to violence. Regulus wasn't sure it'd work on non-mindless mutts, but he _couldn't_ fail. He _wouldn't_ disappoint the Dark Lord. Again, he wove his anxiety into his spell, turning a streak of magic into a blast large enough to hit three and awaken their fiercest instincts.

Regulus stumbled, disoriented by the backlash of his spell. His fear was gone, but his head spun and his legs weren't holding him. Bellatrix pulled him up. Her eyes weren't on him. They were on the dogs and the muggle girl, fighting each other. Tearing each other up. The dogs were evenly matched. The girl had already lost.

Unlike with Rizzo, there was no last-second blast of magic, just a ripped body in a dark red pool and a screaming dog choking on its own blood. The last standing dog suddenly whined and bolted backwards in panic and shock as the spell dissolved. It had been less than a minute. It had been long enough.

It had been like watching someone else's memory. Regulus blinked, still in daze as he clung on to Bellatrix to stay upright.

Rodolphus clapped his shoulder. "Nice work, don't pour all of yourself in your spells, kid. Dark magic is greedy, it's got to be kept on a leash."

He was smiling proudly, in a way Father had never smiled at Regulus, and Regulus smiled back, sluggishly straightening._ He'd done it. He'd shown them he could do it. That he wasn't weak._

His mind was barely clearing as his cousin tightly grabbed his arm. He thought he saw a large red muggle vehicle heading for the farm before they apparated away. His stomach lurched from the transportation's jolt, much harder than it had all morning. He breathed in slowly, desperate not to throw up.

They found themselves back at the Nettles', settled in a soft couch while Rodolphus told the good news to the family who began to make plans on how to safeguard a more reasonable amount of land for themselves this time. A glass of water was handed to Regulus. He greedily gulped it down, hoping nobody noticed just how weak he felt.

"You shouldn't use fear," Snape said softly. "With fear, you're tempted to let it all go. It's easier with anger, because you're fine with being angry, it's... justified. You don't want to magically exhaust yourself."

"I hear you." Regulus laughed silently, marveling at the fact he'd cast spells he'd have thought beyond him even this morning. _Yes_, he'd been terrified, but that had given him power like he'd never been able to summon in class. He understood now, why people said the Dark Lord would make them all stronger. Wizards needed purpose to thrive, and the modern world had stripped them all of true purpose, making them believe a cushy Ministry job was the highest calling. This... _this_ was why they were born with magic. To do whatever they put their minds to doing.

"Thank you, for bringing me," Snape said after a while. "Why didn't you take Mulciber or Avery? Or Rosier? They would give an arm for an opportunity like this. They can pay you back better."

"I'm not so sure they could. Cousin Cissy's never looked twice at them."

"I know you have a crush on your cousin, Black, but I mean it."

Regulus grinned because Snape was teasing, _friendly_ teasing, and that was rare. "Honestly, because I trust you more. I know where we stand. You're smarter and more powerful. I'm a Black and I know people. I can't have what you have and vice versa. We can help each other. Mulciber and Avery... sometimes I feel we're competing. Also, if you're mean, I'll whine to Narcissa, and you'll care _way_ more than Mulciber would when she'll get on your case."

Snape rolled his eyes, but he couldn't pretend it wasn't _true_. He then frowned, looking at something beyond Regulus. "Do you have books on Occlumency?"

Regulus followed the other's gaze. Bellatrix and the Dark Lord were standing close. Her hand was on his arm, their eyes locked. _Wandless legilimency_. Less accurate than with a wand, but enough to see what a willing partner was ready to show you (if you were powerful and skilled enough to pull off wandless casting, obviously, but Regulus knew he had to stop being bitter about that if he wanted to fit in with the right crowd).

"We must have, but I doubt he'll be thrilled if he notices you blocking him."

"It's everybody else I want to learn how to block."

They hastily stood up when the Dark Lord strode towards them. Regulus was relieved he managed not to sway.

"You're too young to be of much use to me yet, but soon you'll be men. I have a question for each of you. I'll want an answer by the next time we meet."

Regulus nodded solemnly. "My Lord?"

"What do you want to do about your treacherous brother, Regulus? Don't think to use lack of power as an excuse to hide your lack of will, I will help you, whatever you chose." He turned to Snape. "As for you, Bella told me you are a Prince. A half-blood Prince. What do you want to do about your grandparents?"

"But..." Regulus took a slow breath. He had to ask. "The Princes are wizards, not muggles. We can't just... get rid of them."

"Can't we?" A thin smile drew itself on the Dark Lord's lips. "There might be consequences, but that will be Severus' choice." Red clouded the man's irises. "To abandon a talented magical child to grow among muggles should be punished, don't you agree?"

It wasn't a question. Regulus nodded promptly.

He was a little dizzy later, as he tried to think what he wanted to do about Sirius. Before, it's not like he'd had a choice. Now... What _did_ he want to do? Was there a spell to give people a new personality?

What would be an appropriate punishment? For being a traitor. And a terrible brother.

What would a proper Lord Black do?

* * *

**Author's Note**

Regulus needs to fall before he finds it in himself to make the right choice. So here we are.

I was curious to explore how Voldemort recruited his followers during the early war years, because if he'd started off by crucioing everybody, he'd have had very few followers. So, like in most abusive relationships, he spots the kind of people who crave power and/or recognition badly enough, he gives them what they want at first, he creates a climate of fear by showing what happens to his enemies but makes sure to treat his followers like they're special, and only later, when his followers are marked and trapped (if only because they're criminals and can't go back), he turns on them because he knows they won't leave.

For what it's worth, I don't see Voldemort as someone who's super-powered. I see magical talent a bit like talent for sports. Sure, some people have better genetics, but you don't get to be a high-level athlete without putting in the hours. Voldemort (and Bellatrix to a lesser extent) are the Kung-Fu masters of the wizarding world, they're obsessed by magic and power and so have spent an insane amount of time improving their spell-crafting. More average wizards like playing explosive snap, listening to music on the wireless and going to the pub with their friends, so they're no way near that level.

A bit of world-building because I'm in a chatty mood: I see pre-Statute wizards as pirates of a kind. They took what they needed (food, clothes, houses) and just hexed (from obliviates to love potions and straight up murder) muggles who wouldn't cooperate. I mean, if you have magic, why bother with the daily grind? I'm sure some nice wizards were content to grow herbs and breed chickens, but others doubtless wanted muggles to bow to them. Of course, that kind of behavior creates chaos and muggles still can be dangerous to wizards (especially if they have the element of surprise, and most people probably didn't want to have to kill muggles anyway, or to be attacked because some other wizard behaved badly), so I figure wizarding society decided it would be more civilized to live apart, so the Statute happened and interactions with muggles became increasingly frowned upon. One the one hand, it protects muggles, on the other, it increases the Ministry's power because wizards can't just take what they want anymore, they need to make money to pay other wizards for stuff they can't do themselves. Which means everybody must get jobs and people's status gets tied up to that. Things are more peaceful, until some people realize they could have much more if they stopped following the law. Hence Dark Lords.


	19. R: New Princes

**It turns out that being cooped inside almost 24/7 makes writing villains being villainous much easier. My loved ones are grateful that I channel my aggressiveness through my writing^^. **

**Time to see how Regulus gets sucked deeper into the gang **_(full disclosure : to write Regulus' chapters, I've been spending an inordinate amount of time reading up on how 'normal' teenagers become part of gangs). People who are very nice to 'their' people and callous, even monstrous, to outsiders seem to be scarily common._

* * *

In the Spring of '76, a muggleborn by the name of Hugo Wallace and his dying mother were turned away by Saint Mungo's staff. The hospital didn't treat muggles, no exceptions.

This wouldn't have been noteworthy if not for the fact that, a few months later, thirty year old Wallace got himself filmed performing magic and sent the films to every news office he could think of. Truth was, after the loss of his livelihood because he couldn't find a pureblood business partner, Wallace had lost his purpose, then his house, and months later, his girlfriend. A decade spent outside Hogwarts' halls had turned the promises made in the Gryffindor dorm into faint echoes, and besides, who was Wallace to heap his misery on the few friends he still had? Moving back to his birth town and watching his elementary school acquaintances with their families and their jobs, while he was wrapped in lies and feeling like a wretched failure, wrecked him. The death of his mother was the last straw.

Wallace had come to understand why, in '69, Jan Palach and two other Czechoslovakian university students had chosen to protest against the Soviet invasion by _setting themselves on fire_. Sometimes the only thing you could do was scream loud enough and hope to be heard.

ITV broadcasted Wallace's video on September 6., commented by an astounded film expert. _'This is either a genius of special effects beyond my understanding, or, as barmy as it sounds, true magic'._ The next day, the video was on every British channel and MI6 demanded access to the films. The day after that, Wallace's video was picked up by international outlets.

It was out of control, the information spreading too fast, too far, for Obliviators to contain. The Minister had no choice but to welcome an international delegation of mages demanding immediate action.

A team of twelve expert mages from seven nations cast a modified Fidelius Charm that rippled through the world. Unlike a memory curse, nothing was forgotten, only dismissed and locked away in a corner of everyone's minds. Suddenly, the film stopped being important and muggles moved on with their lives. Such a powerful spell could not be bound on a single keeper, and so magic itself was its keeper : wizards and witches would all remember how close they'd gotten to discovery.

Its pride in tatters, the Ministry of Magic could obviously not leave it at that. Even those who held no particular ill will towards muggleborn had been unnerved by the realization that a minority of wizards, informed by their muggle relations, had become aware of the crisis _before_ the Ministry of what had transpired.

And so, whether it was out of fear of a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, fear for the Ministry's power, hate of muggleborn, or just a desire to not bother arguing against the loudest voices, it was agreed that safety mattered more than muggleborn's freedom. The Wizengamot voted that it wasn't safe anymore to let people with uncertain loyalties wield magic.

As of november 1976, muggleborn witches and wizards who weren't married to someone who could justify having either two magical parents or one magical parent working at the Ministry, were given sixth months to either get hitched, surrender their wands, or leave the country. Some protested, so the Ministry assured everyone that it was just a temporary measure, as they were working on magical vows to make sure muggleborn could safely own wands. A few dared whisper that Ministry-enforced Unbreakable Vows was a first step towards slavery, but muggleborn were few and often badly integrated, so to most wizards they were _other people_, little else than potential threat.

The Ministry didn't stop at that. Muggles who knew of magic now had to be registered and approved of. Lack of approval would result in memory modification erasing all knowledge of magic (as long as someone had the means to pay for an expert obliviator), or a full memory wipe. Lack of approval was common for muggles who lived as muggles. Only those married to mages and parents of magical children were relatively spared.

In December 1976, Albus Dumbledore publicly denounced the Ministry for giving in to the traditionalists. He accused them of taking disproportionate action against muggles and muggleborn, and of ignoring the true issue : that Voldemort and his allies encouraged people to return to a world where power was law, where everything the Ministry had put in place to make wizards and witches independent from muggles was being thrown aside in favor of the old days' parasitic and violent ways. Dumbledore insisted that with suitable wards to combat muggle expansion, there would be more than enough space for mages. He argued that it was the old families' refusal to share their warding spells and the exorbitant sums they charged for warding that had created this crisis.

Some would later say that the founding action of the fledgling Order of the Phoenix was destroying the registers of muggleborn and magic-aware muggles, crippling the Ministry's hunt and allowing hundreds to go into hiding.

The response to _that_ particular act of sabotage was to keep it under wraps. Minister Jenkins had left the Daily Prophet a lot of freedom, and she had been ousted from office in '65, outmaneuvered by Voldemort's supporters and deserted by former allies who had lost faith in her. Minister Minchum, determined to wrestle things back in order, knew that the population had to be kept _calm_. It made the Ministry look more efficient, and with the people's trust, the Ministry _could_ be more efficient. Or so he believed.

He strongly resented Dumbledore for not cooperating.

* * *

**1977 January – Regulus' fourth year**

"Gran would _love_ to take on apprentices, but she's bound by magic to not cast or teach wardlore," Gladys Meadowes said, her fingers nervously playing with the shut velvet curtains as she leaned against the chilly stone wall. "Why is everyone being so stubborn? Surely if we unite we can come up with runes, or a ritual like the Statute, to peacefully avoid muggles. Dumbledore has a point."

Regulus shook his head. "Father will never share his ward knowledge without express bindings. Wardsmiths are by definition wardbreakers. He'd compromise the Manor's safety. Now, if you mixed blood magic with the wards, it might not matter, but that's illegal."

The two stood close, close enough an onlooker would think they'd stumbled upon two teenagers flirting. They kept their voices down despite the music, because Slughorn was quick to interrupt political talk at the Slug Club. Things at Hogwarts had become _tense_. Snape had said the older year's club was even worse (_obviously._ What was Slughorn thinking, inviting both Lily Evans and Corvis Avery to his gatherings? Barty Crouch of all people had been keeping the peace.).

"It wasn't made illegal on a whim, Reg. Name me one great practitioner of blood magic, _aside_ from Saros Black, that didn't end badly. I just... Magical skill doesn't make one _right_. I'm not saying the Ministry isn't corrupt, but the _concept_ of Ministry isn't wrong. If laws stop mattering it's everyone for themselves. People aren't just taking from muggles. I heard from Gran that the Minister wants to increase dementor numbers, to patrol even the petty crime section of Azkaban, because they number of thefts and assaults keep rising." The blonde clasped her hands before her worriedly. "It's going to be _chaos._"

"Chaos is the price to pay for change. Nobody likes thieves, neighbours will unite. They'll realize magic is more important than filling in Ministry reports for a hundred galleons a month. They'll invent their _own_ wards! We were a powerful nation once, so why not again?"

Gladys grasped his wrist and Regulus immediately lowered his voice, his eyes darting around. It was difficult these days, for a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin to talk. Everybody had loud and angry opinions on what everyone was to think. With Gladys, they could disagree without hating each other and that was... weird. A nice weird.

"Regulus, you're not listening. Someone who's fine with destroying or killing always has an advantage in a duel. The solution to that is _aurors_, not encouraging everybody to get good at destroying! Our population has doubled since the seventeenth century, because people thrive in peacetime. Sure, our Ministry isn't perfect but this violence-"

"The Ministry is very violent." That was something Mr. Nettles had said last summer, and that had struck Regulus. "When the Ministry tells people they have to give up land, or stand by helplessly as muggles pollute the rivers, that's violent, even if no hexes are thrown. When you can't afford international portkeys and are forbidden to apparate across the Channel because some idiots did it in front of muggles and got a law passed, that's violent. When you don't have a personal library, and aren't rich enough to buy magical theory books, then you're effectively barred from learning advanced magic... It's even worse for those who don't get to study at Hogwarts. Lots of people already _aren't_ fitting in."

Gladys sighed. "You're right," she finally muttered. Regulus liked how her lips thinned in concentration and how her brown eyes met his, like they were on the same side trying to figure things out. "We must reform things but not like _this_."

Gladys was smart but also so _naïve_. Regulus didn't blame her. A year ago, he'd been the one bored by the Prophet and current events, eager to focus on Quidditch and classes and to tune out the rest. He'd been a child and a fool.

"Come on, Gladys. They talk about reform _now, _because they're desperate to keep their positions. If tomorrow the Dark Lord vanishes, they'll stop talking about reform. Things would be _more_ peaceful if the Ministry would stop losing its mind every time wizards reclaim their land. Why not just change the laws when the laws hurt people?"

"Muggles don't deserve to have their lives ruined. Muggleborn are _wizards and witches_. We need to find a balance, not just create more suffering."

Regulus crossed his arms. The Nettles _had_ been suffering_, that was the point. _"Then get your family to side with us and help us find this balance. Don't pretend the Minister actually cares."

_'They like you because you have no personality.'_ All those years ago, Sirius had been a git, as usual, and wrong. Regulus _could_ think and have opinions. Soon, people would listen to what he had to say. The Dark Lord would look at him differently if Regulus brought over the Meadowes to his side.

But that probably wouldn't be tonight: Gladys looked increasingly frustrated. "So what will this _Dark Lord_ do when his angry mob has toppled the Ministry? There's a reason he seduces so many Slytherins and it's not just his ancestry : you're all convinced that you're cut of a finer cloth than the rest of us. That in this new world where the weak bow to the powerful, you'll be on the side of power."

Regulus' lips thinned. "You call them a mob only because you feel they don't deserve to be heard. You can't argue for muggleborn and in the same breath dismiss purebloods who've been losing everything."

"He's encouraging people to use dark arts. That's not what you do when you want to build-"

"Bollocks," Regulus snapped. "Light magic is something you must _learn_. Control access to knowledge and you control people's magical skill. Dark magic is feelings-based. Learn how to harness your intent and spells follow much more easily than with anything light. That's why it's feared: the Ministry can't control people's feelings. Dark arts can be safe if you have discipline."

Gladys stared. That long stare that made the few inches between them feel like an invisible, unbreakable, wall. "Reg, have you ever wondered why Slytherin house is disproportionately dark? Why Hufflepuffs are more relaxed and friendly? Why we have an easier time making friends?" Regulus opened his mouth and winced when Gladys grabbed his hands tightly enough to hurt. "Why so many kids in Slytherin are competitive and... _intense_, and talk of their parents very differently than most Hufflepuffs do?"

A hand muffled his retort. Gladys was pressed against him, it was awkward but would not had been entirely unpleasant had she not looked so upset. The hand muffling his mouth, though, that was really rude.

"Did you ever pause to think that's because it's really, _really_ difficult, to tame dark arts and that use of dark magic changes how you feel, _who you are_? I -"

With a huff, Regulus shoved her off. "Of course they change you! Instead of being a doormat, you -"

"Hey, you two, no hiding behind the curtains!" Slughorn's smile was jovial but his eyes were tight in warning. At his arm, Fausta Haywood, the evening's guest.

Regulus winced. He'd gotten too loud and he'd pushed Gladys more forcefully than he should have. She was scowling at him, like she wanted to pound his head against the wall until he changed his mind. To be fair, he was feeling the same. _To suggest all Slytherin were all dark-addled -_

"Surely you must have questions for Ms. Haywood!' Slughorn boomed, all but physically cornering them."How many people do you know who started off enchanting children's toys and now spend their days shadowing auror investigations? Proof that with Charms and Potions one can do great things, even without a Defense OWL."

"I'll let you know, Sir, that my shield charms are quite sturdy," Haywood protested, her eyes smiling. She was a plump woman with short brown hair and straight-cut, almost masculine robes. "Why bother learning to duel when a good portkey will get you out of a sticky situation faster than you can say 'help!'?"

"Quite true!" Slughorn stared pointedly at Gladys. "Fausta was Hufflepuff, Miss Meadowes."

Gladys smiled at that. It was true that Hufflepuffs did smile more than Slytherin. "I do have a question: in the Fawley case you talked about, you didn't say how you realized that toy brooms could be use to identify a secret corridor."

"Toy brooms keep kids from bumping everywhere, so they stay away from solid surfaces. When a broom bumps into what looks like a wall... something's up. Now had there been a charmed door blocking the way, my trick wouldn't have worked, but the aurors had moved fast : Fawley had only had the time to cast an illusion over the corridor entrance before they arrived." She grinned. "Of course, that doesn't compare to what your aunt Dorcas did to unravel Ladon Lestrange's anti-tracking charms. He went muggle but the moment he casts magic on English soil -"

An incredulous chuckle escaped Regulus' throat. The three turned to stare. _Ah, bugger. _"I didn't know it was a secret that the whole family is currently living with Brannon Rosier's brothers." It really _couldn't_ be.

"He's not, the aurors investigated," Haywood said with a frown. "You are -"

"Regulus Black." The lengths the Minister's people went to pretend they were in control. "Perhaps I _am_ wrong." He couldn't resist. "After all why _would_ the Ministry lie about it?"

Haywood looked genuinely upset, and slightly flushed as she realized _who_ she was talking to. They didn't wear house colors at the Slug Club. Gladys was staring like she believed him, which was nice, and also like he was aiding a criminal, which wasn't fair. Slughorn looked supremely uneasy.

"I'm exhausted, I'd better be going," Regulus decided. No point in dragging out the awkwardness. "I'm always impressed with all the fascinating people you know, Professor."

Funny how an expert socialite like Slughorn still looked tickled whenever someone paid him a compliment. "Good night, Mr. Black."

Regulus' heels struck the floor unnecessarily hard as he strode back to the common room. Not that Fausta Haywood _wasn't_ interesting, but her presence was meant as a distraction. The Dark Lord was right. The Ministry and their teachers wanted them to do _nothing_. They thrived on distracted, spineless citizen. Worse, after two years reporting increasingly common incidents, the Prophet had suddenly become the Ministry's fawning lapdog.

It was sickening. And just as sickening were the light wizards who had convinced people like Gladys that there was no choice but to wait for _reform_ to magically happen instead of fighting for their own future.

Frustrated, Regulus threw his outer robes on his bed, willing Gladys' worried brown eyes out of his mind.

_How could anyone believe that ambition meant you'd been twisted by dark arts?_

* * *

**1977 - February**

"Aah, warn a bloke!" Archie exclaimed, jumping backwards from a second jet of vomit as he fumbled for his wand. "_Scourgify!_ Are you alright?"

Regulus, sprawled on the floor on his way to Herbology class in the greenhouses, gasped for air. He couldn't manage to say _Finite _beforehis stomach heaved once more. Burning with embarrassment, he half-expected to see a smirking Sirius show up.

Regulus retched once more, and this time, there was blood.

"You need Madam Pomfrey," Gladys exclaimed over his classmates' muttering, "_now_."

Increasingly panicked, Regulus forced himself upright. He'd been _fine_ this morning. _What -_

_What_ stopped being a mystery when Severus showed up as Archie was dragging him to the Hospital Wing. With a flick of the sixth year's wand, the illness evaporated.

"I need to talk to you." It wasn't clear whether Severus Snape didn't bother with greetings because he needed to assert his dominance in every social interaction, or because he'd been raised in a muggle hovel. Probably both.

Archie wasn't one to tolerate blatant rudeness. "_You_ made him throw up on _me_ just to talk -"

"Back to class, Diggle. You can say he was hexed."

"I'm not your house elf, Snape," Archie snapped. He shot a look at Regulus and harrumphed when he realized he wouldn't be getting any support. "You'll make it up to me."

Severus didn't bat an eyelid. He turned to Regulus and bristled at the younger boy's unimpressed glare (calm jugement was the best way to get under Severus' skin.)

"I see Podmore is still ignoring you." Severus didn't _apologize_, no, never, he escalated instead.

Stupid, as Regulus knew _exactly_ how to strike back. "Evans still ignoring you?"

Severus scowled, his wand arm twitching. Served him right for bringing up Roland.

Roland had gotten weird. He couldn't understand why Regulus was suddenly so interested in what happened outside the castle. Roland spent a lot of time with his little brother Sturgis, an annoying Gryffindor who seemed to worship the Marauders. He and Regulus had started fighting. It had gotten nasty.

_'I'm trying to be a good brother, not that you would know. Us Podmores don't have a habit of losing a family member every five years.' _

_'How can you be so short-sighted? Now I get what my parents meant, when they said not to bother befriending a dressmaker's son.'_

Roland still wasn't talking to him. Regulus hadn't apologized. He'd spent too much of his childhood chasing after the approval of people who refused to grow up. He spent more time with the older guys now, and Archie was happy to sit next to him in class while Roland, ironically, sat with Ian Redclove, the boy he'd so long look down upon for being half-blood.

"My father is being investigated," Severus said after a tense pause. "He's a muggle, living as a muggle, and he doesn't like wizards. They'll wipe him. I received this letter."

_'Tobias Snape, Spinner's End, Cokeworth, under investigation.' _The note was signed with a small drawing a snake coming out of skull.

"Is that a bad thing?" Regulus said in his most neutral tone. Things had changed after the summer. Severus didn't treat Regulus like a job anymore, and Regulus had begun to see beyond the snide armor the sixth year hid behind.

"He wanted a tough, football loving kid," Severus said, his voice flat but his eyes narrowed with distaste. "He's never known what to do with me. Always had a shitty temper. Can't deal with the fact I'm smarter than him. Couldn't even have the decency to not be dirt poor. We're apparating out, take me to your cousin Bellatrix."

Severus' tone hadn't changed so it took Regulus a full second before he registered the order. "What -"

"They don't get to kill my father. If anyone does, it's _me_."

_Kill -_ "They'd just wipe him, that's -"

A harsh laugh escaped Severus' mouth. "He'd become a drunken tramp until the winter does him in." He stood close, and a head taller than Regulus still, forcing the younger boy to step back in he didn't want to crane his head. "They warned me for a reason. They want to see me act. And I _will_ act."

Regulus swallowed back an instinctive protest. _Why would he protest? What was he afraid of? Points and detentions, like some first year? _

"Alright, my broom is in the locker. We 'll fly double to the wards."

Disillusioned and coated in warming charms, they flew out in the January drizzle. The second they were out of the Hogwarts' grounds, Regulus called his favorite apparition mode.

Kreacher took them to an empty street near Belvedere, London, one at a time, with twin loud popping sounds.

"Master Reggie being skipping classes," the house-elf pointed out. It wasn't chiding, just curious.

Regulus grinned at him. "Yeah, Severus has a family crisis. We've got to talk to Cousin Bella."

"Kreacher is staying, to keep Master Reggie out of trouble."

Regulus picked the elf up and put him on his shoulders. "There, you'll pop me out faster than any of Bellatrix's hexes."

Severus looked bemused at the interaction, but Kreacher's weight was comforting, a reminder of the best of his childhood. Regulus felt rather cheerful as they, cloaked by a mild muggle-repelling charm, walked up to Bellatrix's house. It was a very muggle street, but Regulus had to admit it was a charming, obviously wealthy, one.

The door magically swung open when they rang the doorbell. Behind it, Bean smiled, those ear-flapping toothy house-elf smiles. "Cousin! It being nice having visits! And Young Master still being too kind to house elves."

"Well, you guys actually played with me. And it pays to be nice to those who make the food."

Severus' _are you done sucking up _glower vanished when Bean snapped her long fingers. Half of Bellatrix's stock of desserts appeared on the dining room's table. Regulus craned his neck to admire the enchanted ceiling. Today it looked like a mountain dragon reserve with snowy peaks and wyverns flying overhead.

"Enjoy! Bean is fetching the masters," the wrinkled elf announced before popping away.

They were half-way through the cookies when Rodolphus apparated.

"Merlin, those are _mine _you hogs. And don't even think to touch Bella's ice cream!" He squeezed Regulus' shoulder affectionately and even clasped Severus on the back, as if they'd been friends for years. Regulus smiled back. Cousin Rod acted more like a big brother than Sirius ever had.

"What can I do for you, lads?"

"Is it your people or others in the Ministry that will be wiping my father?"

Rodolphus' smile grew, it was less cheerful and more appraising. Proof he knew _exactly_ why they'd come.

"Others, but ours won't be far." Rod stared levelly at them. Unlike Bellatrix, he didn't look dangerous or fierce, but earnest and solemn. And like he took _them_ seriously. "It's peculiar... See, the register was destroyed a few weeks ago, so someone must have put your father's name in..." Rod smiled grimly at their stunned expressions. "Oh, you won't read that in the Prophet. So, lads, we have about a day to act. What do _you_ want to do?"

* * *

Where Cokesworth had been a prime exhibit of everything miserable about muggle industry, Prince Villa in Southern Wales was all arches, wide windows and sculpted embellishments. Dozens of enchanted fountains filled the tree-less grounds. They were made of stone, quartz, ivory, glass or even live-looking vines. Some depicted carved animals, others people, and others still abstract shapes. Colored jets of waters danced around them, defying gravity as they dived in and out of the reservoirs.

"It hasn't changed," Eileen Snape muttered. The Dark Lord had lifted the curse her family had placed on her in a few wandstrokes, but there still was something brittle and meek in the way the witch slouched at her son's side.

The Snapes, Regulus, Rod and the Dark Lord were surrounded by a sort of disillusionment sphere, that concealed them from the outside but not from each other (Regulus couldn't quite muster the confidence to ask the Dark Lord about his spells).

As they walked closer to the villa's wards, the blurred embellishments proved to be gargoyles, hundreds of them, from the goofy to the terrifying, perched on the fountains and on the villa's flat roof. Even the balconies were made of gargoyles, grotesque beasts set shoulder to shoulder with legs and arms shooting upwards obscenely to make the railings.

"Sculptors?" Regulus guessed. This wasn't a collector's lair, this was a workshop.

"Yes... Not that anyone buys gargoyles anymore. Father must be even more desperate to hide he's living above his means than when I was a child." Contempt dripped off Mrs. Snape's every word, strikingly so for someone who'd spent twenty years in magic-deprived squalor.

"Snape, walk through the wards."

Snape's father, who'd been slouching at the edge of the group, frowned when he realized the Dark Lord was talking to _him. _The muggle stared back, stiff and red-faced, clearly unhappy with his current company. His hair was slick and his clothes wet from the persistent light rain (the rest of them were, of course, protected with charms).

"What'll happen if I do?" His voice shook with badly repressed fear, and Regulus suspected he was also starting to be affected by the muggle-repelling wards.

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, his wand loosely between his fingers. "_Walk through the wards._"

Eyes glazed over, Tobias Snape turned around like a man sleepwalking and began to walk.

Regulus took a slow breath and cleared his mind, the now familiar sense of heightened focus washing over him. He had not yet mastered the art of shielding his thoughts from magical intrusions, but distancing himself from interfering emotions was something he was becoming proficient at. Regulus would prove he was man enough to earn the Dark Lord's respect.

The wards' edge wasn't visible to the eye. Tobias Snape kept walking on the grass, oblivious to his surroundings. There was no sound except for the patter of rain and the burble and splashing from the fountains.

He was some twenty yards ahead of them and ten more away from the nearest fountain when the gargoyles sprang alive. Heads and bodies twisted into crouching stances. A grotesque bronze dragon hanging from a bell clapper began to swing. With the first toll of the wide brass bell, four gargoyles leapt forward.

It wasn't just a sculptor's playground. It was an army.

Tobias Snape kept walking. Huge stone wings sent a gust of wind against his clothes but the man didn't even flinch, stepping forward oblivious as the hippogriff gargoyle raised its claws. Blood spurted against cloth and stone as the enchanted beast tore into the man's torso. He stumbled with a shocked cry.

Regulus turned away. Not out of distaste, his occlumency shielded him from such reactions, but because there was more to learn by spying the others' reactions.

Severus' face was a wooden mask and his mother looked mournful but resigned, her hands tightly clasping Severus' wand arm. _What kind of miserable bastard do you have to be, for your son and wife to watch you murdered with barely a flinch?_ Mrs. Snape's expression suddenly twisted into pure hatred.

Two tall lean men in light blue robes had apparated a few yards before them, one gray haired, the other in his fifties. As they rushed to Tobias Snape's corpse, the family resemblance was gargoyles had all stilled, as if frozen in place.

"Have the repelling wards failed?" Older Prince exclaimed. "How did he get so close?"

"Must be a squib despite the clothes. But why would the fool _do_ that?"

The wizards stiffened when two aurors apparated just outside the wards. "Good afternoon, I'm Auror Rosier. This is my partner, Auror Edgecombe. We've just been notified a statute breach..." his eyes widened at the carnage, "and, apparently, a murder."

"He just _walked_ _in_." Older Prince said, looking like he was about to throw up. "The gargoyles got him. And, Merlin, _look at him_! He won't be breaking the Statute anytime soon!"

"Wands down, gentlemen," Rosier warned. "Lethal wards aren't -"

"They're not lethal to anyone with a wand! Any muggle should have been repelled -"

"Let us check the wards together, Auror Rosier," Younger Prince cut in with a placating gesture. "This is a misunderstanding."

"Very well, deactivate the wards and show them to me."

It was almost tragic, how the most skillful layer of wards became useless when you unwittingly allowed your enemies in. Still invisible to the Princes, the five entered the grounds without a single gargoyle stirring.

Neither Rosier nor his partner flinched when the Dark Lord dropped the illusion.

Older Prince, who had been taking ragged breaths and wringing his hands, froze in shock.

Younger Prince only had eyes for his sister. "_You_!" His hand rose to his face in instinct, intercepting something small, transparent, and _fast_.

Glass, a potion's vial, shattered in the wizards face. The man's features twisted as if made of warm clay. He fell on the grass, his scream stolen. Eyebrows, nose and lips lost their color, their structure and dripped downwards. Bone, skin and teeth all melted into a thick mess.

Older Prince screamed in horror as his son's body spasmed on the ground, the lasts wisps of his magic evaporating along with his skull.

"One of the very first potions I learned here," Eileen Snape said. "It makes stone as easy to mold as snow. Bad for your skin."

The witches' hands shook. Her tearful eyes were bright, she looked stunned, relieved and half-mad, but her voice was steady and vicious. She straightened, and Regulus realized now that the woman was tall, taller than he was, almost as tall as her son.

"You... I expected you to come _back_," Prince elder spluttered, scrambling backwards. He gasped when his shoulders and legs struck a stone wall conjured by Rod. His eyes darted left and right in wild panic, but there was nowhere to go except towards them. The hopeless situation seemed to fill him with sudden rage. "Twenty years with that muggle you wasted!" He jabbed a finger at Severus. "And you. How could you? How could you go to Hogwarts in rags rather than owl us! I would have written you had I known!"

Severus looked at his grandfather up and down. The man was a shaking, tear-stricken mess. Uncertainty showed through the teenager's distaste. "Is it true you tried to sell her to a man for... supplies?"

The older wizard took a shuddering breath. A dazed resignation seemed to replace his panic.

"We _all_ have sold ourselves. What ancient family does not! He would have given you the potion mastery you wanted, Eileen. You could have poisoned him the moment you'd sucked all the knowledge from him, and we'd have inherited -"

"He drugged me with love potions and you said _'how else do you expect to have a good marriage'_," Eileen said flatly. "I wouldn't have survived three years. He'd soon have found a prettier toy to torment." She turned to Severus. "Go, legilimize him, go see the childhood I deprived you of."

Severus didn't hesitate. The man buckled, screaming in pain. Where the Dark Lord could slip subtly into your mind, Severus had neither the skill nor the patience and tore through his grandfather's shields. Severus wasn't occluding : it took a master to use Dark Arts with a shielded mind, and so his fierce curiosity, his rage, and soon his pallor, was obvious to all.

Severus swayed, his eyes wide and distant, as he finally broke the contact.

"Too fast, and your mind is overwhelmed," the Dark Lord said, pointing his wand at Severus and muttering an incantation.

The seventeen year old's eyes widened then narrowed with new focus. He bowed his head in gratitude.

"What did you see?"

Severus bristled reflexively, but one didn't dismiss the Dark Lord. "Lots of silencing charms, my Lord. And cheering charms, calming concoctions, body-bind curses, sleeping potions... They molded their children like they fashioned their statues. Meals, clothes and free time had to be earned. They made sure Mother and my Uncle would compete and hate each other. They had almost no interaction with anyone else until Hogwarts."

"At least Tobias left me my own mind," Mrs. Snape said, her chin raised defiantly. She turned to her son. "Did you see in his mind where Mother is hiding?"

"We'll find her," the Dark Lord said dismissively. "What do you want to do to _him_, Severus?"

Like that day at the Nettles, it was a question that wasn't a question. It was a test.

Severus stepped towards the pathetic old man, now on his knees on the ground, clinging to his son's mutilated body amidst incoherent sobs. He stiffly raised his wand. "_Sectumsempra_."

A long red gash appeared on the elder Prince's neck. A jet of blood spurted from the wound, the head rolled off his shoulders, hitting the wet ground with a muffled thump seconds before the headless body. '_A spell to perfectly slice potions ingredients.' Ha. _

"Would a standard healing save him?" The Dark Lord looked intrigued. Pleased even.

"No, my Lord. Only the counter will cleanly undo the damage." Severus lifted his chin, emboldened by the Dark Lord's approval. "Otherwise it would just be a fancy severing charm."

A thin smile curved the Lord Voldemort's lips. "Indeed. I'm eager to see what spells you'll have for me by the time you finish Hogwarts." He turned to assess the property. "I will leave you a dozen gargoyles, perhaps more, but the others I need. It's inefficient to give our allies back their land if they can't defend it."

_Indeed._ Hundreds of bee-like sparks shot out of the Dark Lord's wands and flew for the villa and the grounds, slowing around each object they encountered, as if making an inventory. Regulus watched in wonder, marveling at how easy the Dark Lord made things.

What he wanted, what _they_ wanted, was theirs for the taking. It was as simple as that.

"Mrs. Snape," Auror Rosier called. "I'll need more of your vials to disguise this as a potions accident."

* * *

It had been half an hour since Rosier and his partner had finished erasing any damning evidence.

Regulus stood before a remarkable glass fountain of dancing veelas. The beautiful creatures would have been naked if not for the flowing water suggestively draping them. His shoulders were stiff, his fists clenched. It was almost 6 PM. They had to go back to Hogwarts. As a legal adult, Severus had some freedom, but Regulus had no wish to waste his evenings in detention.

But if he left now, any wizard with experience in the mind arts would recognize his tremors for what they were. His heart slammed against his ribcage and his thoughts were all over the place. _The blood. The melting face. The ripping and crunching sound of gargoyle's claws._ Regulus wished he could maintain his occlumency-fueled focus _longer_. He hated this... delayed panic. _It was useless and stupid and - _

A hand squeezed his stiff shoulders. Regulus started: he'd not heard Rod approach. "They deserved it. You'll get used to it. You did well."

He hadn't done _anything_. He might as well have stayed at Rod's apartment to eat cookies with Bean and Kreacher. Gladys' words rang loud in his mind. _'You're all convinced that in this new world where the weak bow to the powerful, you'll be on the side of power.'_

"Why does the Dark Lord value me?" he whispered.

Rod smiled indulgently. He conjured a slab of stone for them to sit on. "Don't let that worry you, Cousin. Look at me : I'm not especially powerful, and politically, you'll be a bigger player than I am."

"You make Bellatrix happy, that's important."

Rod's smile became a full on grin. "Make Bella happy, do I?"

"Well... she married you..."

For some reason, Rod found that hilarious. He soon sobered. "There's something you need to know."

He told Regulus of the Black blood curse, of Bellatrix's plan to use the marriage to free herself from the bindings.

"Father did _what_?" _A blood curse. On cousin Bella. How -_

"Most people panic when they see power slipping out of their grasp. Not Orion's smartest move."

"Bellatrix has forgiven him?" Regulus' throat was dry as he began to realize he might end up Lord Black _much_ earlier than he'd intended.

"No, but he's irrelevant to her. You see, the Dark Lord planted the idea in Orion's head. It was a test, he wanted Bella to ask him for help. She preferred to marry me." Rodolphus grinned. "Blacks are a stubborn bunch."

Nervous laughter burst from Regulus' lips. Trust Bellatrix to outplay the Dark Lord himself. "And... you're happy?"

Rod's grin softened, warmth crinkling his eyes. "You're adorable. Bella's a lot of fun. Don't tell her, but there are worse things than a blood curse getting your crush to propose to you. Don't worry," Rod repeated, and Regulus found himself breathing more easily. "Bella is a hurricane, but people like you and me keep things together. The tallest tower needs solid foundations."

"That's kind of Hufflepuff."

"So what, Hogwarts wouldn't have existed without old Helga. We've been attracting more Ravenclaws, some Hufflepuffs and even some Gryffindors. Hogwarts sorts us to strengthen our core strengths, so we can later all cooperate build castles of our own."

"Beautiful," Regulus deadpanned. "You believe that or you're practicing your political speeches?" The teenager hid his smile as Rod punched his shoulderblade. "Fine, convince me, what makes Gryffs valuable?"

"Look at that mudblood Wallace : he accepted to die for his ideals. Rattled the wizarding world harder than anyone since Grindewald. Gryffindors can be made to do the damnedest things in the name of loyalty or some ideal. Look at your disgrace of a brother : what Slytherin would be foolish enough to give up a Lordship and a sizable inheritance because he had a bad relationship with his parents?"

Regulus nodded in slow agreement, his expression dark. "We're better off without him." _Silencio, cheering charms, calming draughts... _Their parents had never used those. They'd never magicked them into someone else, they'd just applied natural consequences when he and Sirius had made bad choices. Sirius was too entitled and hard-headed to accept that.

Regulus pushed himself upright. He was feeling better. _The blood -._ His throat was still dry but it wasn't so bad.

Rod looked thoughtful as they went to fetch Severus.

"We told your friend that his uncle had told the authorities to investigate his muggle father. Prince did, but only after Rosier ran into him at a function and made a public comment about his muggle relations."

Regulus missed a step. "You _wanted_ this to happen?"

"The Dark Lord requires gargoyles. It was an opportunity for Severus to shine, and he seized it beautifully."

For _Severus_ to shine. Regulus swallowed back a new spike of insecurity. He had betrayed enough weakness for today. "He did. We really should hurry back to Hogwarts."

"I'll tell old Slughorn it was a family emergency." Smiling, Rodolphus affected a sigh. "Poor Severus, he just lost his father. Muggles, falling drunk down the stairs... tragic. As far as anyone is concerned, you never were here. Severus shouldn't boast until the house is his."

_His?_ _Even if Mrs. Prince was removed - _"Mrs. Snape isn't the Prince heir."

Rod smiled once more with that calm confidence Regulus admired. "She will be quite soon. The Dark Lord treats his allies well."

Regulus' soft laughter mixed with the waterfall sounds. The Dark Lord made everything so very easy.

* * *

_The Snapes magically locked down Spinner's End and moved in at Prince Villa a few months later. The relationship between mother and son couldn't be quite called easy or loving, but it was comfortable in its way. Eileen had taught Severus to spell-craft, to aim high and to be fiercely individualistic. Severus had found it easier to make peace with his mother's shortcomings after the encounter with his grandfather. Nobody would ever sneer at them again, he would make sure of it._

_After his NEWTs , Severus soon left for his potions apprenticeship and the villa became wartime headquarters. Eileen left with her son, to find work of her own in a country where she wasn't weighted down by her past._

_The Dark Lord had made all the arrangements. The price was a Dark Mark Severus would have taken anyway. At the time, Severus was overflowing with gratitude and a desire to prove himself, to stand right next to Bellatrix by Lord Voldemort's side._

_A few weeks after Voldemort's fall, in a fit of blind rage and self-loathing, Severus moved his lab and library to Spinner's End and corrupted the wards, leading the remained gargoyles to tear apart his ancestors' home. The villa where Antonin Dolohov had thrown a party to celebrate Fabian and Gideon Weasley's death. Where Edgar Bones had begged for his life. The garden where Avery had hunted muggles like pheasants, setting conjured blood-hounds after his victims and finishing them off with increasingly creative dark curses._

_It calmed Severus down, to see it burn._

_Eileen Snape never returned from Morocco. She couldn't find a reason to miss Britain._

* * *

**Author's note.**

In canon, Occlumency seems to be frowned upon (on top of being challenging to master), so I tried to come up with a reason why. My head-canon now is that occlumency grants you calm and focus to do what you want. That can be awesome : you can be level-headed in times of panic. It can also help you be the cold-hearted murderer you think you should be. I think it could be considered like a drug : it's something that numbs you and helps you function, and once you get used to it, you often don't want to have to face your feelings anymore (especially if you started occluding to ward off bad emotions, like grief, guilt or anxiety). Like dark arts, it takes a lot of discipline to use it in a way that doesn't harm you.

The next chapter is fully planned out and half of it is written. We'll be hitting the late-seventies, when Lord Voldemort's power is at its peak and he doesn't need to woo his followers anymore.

** Paul**, I can promise that many of the things you mentioned you'd like to see in your reviews will be happening in the upcoming couple of chapters^^.


	20. R: The Wrong Side of War

**And I'm back! Less than two weeks after the last chapter, with 20 (twenty!) pages. I hope you're happy. I know _I_'m happy^^. **

* * *

After the end of Regulus' fourth year, when Bellatrix asked what he'd decided to do about Sirius, he was ready.

He'd spent the school year ignoring his brother and the tosser, strikingly, had ignored him back. It stung, but if Sirius had been loyal and worthy, the Dark Lord would never have looked twice as Regulus. So, in all fairness, Regulus owed Sirius a pint.

The stale stench of motor gas filled Regulus' lungs. The underground car park wasn't anything special : stifling and gray, with thick walls and low ceilings, and a few motors stacked in between parallel lines on the floor. A couple of sleepy-eyed muggles shuffled about, but it was 5 AM : the place was nearly deserted.

There was a problem with the electric lights. Many were dead, most were flickering. It got worse on the second underground and the muggles walked faster, muttering about cheap city officials as they shot dirty looks upwards. As he reached the ramp leading to the third underground, Regulus found himself squinting in the deepening gloom.

"Got him," Bellatrix said triumphantly. "Magic and electricity don't mix."

"Why didn't he pick somewhere outside of London?"

"Easier to hide magic from the Ministry when you're under yards of earth and concrete. Easier to fill up a party if you're close to a public floo spot." There had been one of those red telephone boxes right outside the parking, with shattered windows and an out-of-order sign. "Crouch ordered the floos monitored, and we have people listening in. We know that instead of the usual score, we had a hundred and fifty floo this way tonight."

"Aurors will be coming too?"

Scornful laughter burst out of Bellatrix's lungs. "_Aurors_. You think Alphard can't double whatever floo-surveillance is paying its people? Besides, the Ministry's too busy to chase after Euphoria Elixirs and Billiwig venom balls these days. Peddling pills, potions and powders has probably never been so profitable."

Regulus' lips curled. He didn't need the reminder that Alphard was wealthier than Father. The bastard had sent Mother his mind-addling filth, to _'distract her from her misery'_. Regulus hated that she hadn't thrown it in the trash. Mother and Father's fighting had gotten even worse, seeping in the letters they wrote him. Regulus couldn't remember his parents ever being soft to each other like Cissy and Lucius were, but nowadays it seemed even the respect was eroding.

Humming in the darkness, Bellatrix finally conjured light. Runes were painted on the ramping road, anchoring a mix of anti-muggle, privacy and alarm wards.

Their vials of polyjuice clinked before they chugged them down. A minute later, Regulus flexed his thin, female fingers, and adjusted his clothes to his new body. He then dispelled the disillusionement charm that had cloaked him until now. He'd picked a muggle woman, an attractive twenty-something with uncombed waist-length hair, who'd been drinking in the street with a band of friends and singing in an off-key voice (to the delight of anyone trying to sleep, no doubt). He didn't doubt she'd fit in. He'd picked her because she was muscled for a woman, and his height. Breasts, and the unnerving lightness between his legs were disorienting enough as it was.

His photo-camera, transfigured into a silver pendant, was cold against his neck.

They stepped forward, entering the warded area. Rousing music blasted away the silence. The darkness gave way to a new kind of gloom, one filled with dancing magical lights of all colors.

Regulus chuckled. It had to be high-pitched but he could barely hear himself over the noise. In front of him Bellatrix had become a tall broad man, but she moved as herself. His cousin made for a stunningly flamboyant weight-lifter, with sparkling tight-fitting robes to match.

The third underground had been transformed. The concrete pillars were surrounded by floating bowls filled with punch and various mixtures. Around them, used ladles floated just as lazily. Spillage littered the ground. A dozen or so tables must have been stacked with food and drink at the start of the evening, but now people danced on top of them, amidst empty bottles and empty plates. A house elf could be seen vanishing the worst of the trash, but the guests seemed to enjoy the chaos. They moved disembodied, as if in a world of their own. Some gaped at nothing, a stupid, hair-rising smile on their faces.

Some weren't _people_. Regulus reddened as he spotted a half-naked woman with a satyr._ Was that a -_

"Your wands, please."

A woman with alert blue eyes was seated on an armchair next to where the ramp connecting undergrounds 2 and 3 ended. A rolled out oriental carpet connected the space from side to side, drawing a boundary between newcomers and the party. Woven runes stared back at Regulus. There was an age-line in there, blocking out minors, and who knew what else.

They placed their two wands in the rune-carved silver drawer the lady was pointing at. The runes flashed and Bellatrix stepped through. Regulus pretended to hesitate, waiting for Bellatrix's signal.

It came seconds later. Regulus let go of the breath he'd been holding as he walked over the age-line undetected.

The wand in his pocket felt wrong. Too wide, too short, too rough. His was traced, so Bellatrix had made him try a dozen, and he hadn't dared ask where they came from. Their informant had said the runes would let them in only if they surrendered the wand bound to them. Casting with a wand that hadn't chosen him felt like swimming with his school robes on. Bellatrix had borrowed Cassiopeia's, and a wand willingly lent was a much better match.

The entwined scents of sweat, perfume, alcohol and potion fumes made Regulus' head spin. He clutched Bellatrix's arm, disgust curling his lips. These people and creatures in disguise, accepting to surrender their wands for a chance to drown their senses. Everyone knew that the best high was followed by the worst crash, and that was how those drugs sank their teeth in you, making reality so dull and lifeless that your mind would beg for more until even your body felt pain when it was denied.

And the money they spent... Alphard had made Sirius his heir, and had of course delighted in telling Father so.

That crook had paid and blackmailed his way out of every scrape, but it was time he learned consequences.

Regulus took the chain off his neck and muttered a _Finite_. Twice. _Accursed wand!_ On the third try the chain thickened and twisted, and _finally_ became a photo-camera once more.

"_Gemini,_" Bellatrix whispered, again and again, until two cameras became twenty and then fifty. They floated upwards, unnoticed in the chaos of the party (or perhaps some did notice, but without wands and with such loud music, what could they do?)

A small rune-carved sphere in her hand, Bellatrix made a half-circle with her wand. A dispel charm began falling over the crowd like an early spring drizzle.

At the same time, Regulus cast the most powerful light spell he could manage. Faces became recognizable more than three feet away. The first surprised shouts could be heard when the music died and soon screams began to fill the room. Polyjuice was expensive and so most disguises were simple charms and glamors, easily washed away by Bellatrix's dispel. Others just wore clever makeup, wigs and masks, torn away by a sudden gust of wind.

All the cameras all began to flash.

Theodora Bulstrode was the first person Regulus recognized. That Prophet journalist, Spinnet, was the second. A wave of panic had gripped the crowd. The euphoric and the dazed were violently shoved aside as people rushed for their wands. Bursts of accidental magic fed the chaos.

A close-by piercing scream grabbed Regulus' attention. A young man was on the ground, clutching his bleeding, possibly broken hand. _Divus_. The reserve chaser for the Wimbleton Wasps. He'd shown Regulus around when cousin Bella had given in to his pleas to meet the team. He'd seemed an okay bloke. Flinching, Regulus took an instinctive step forward the sobbing man.

The whoosh of a displacement spell had him turn. Bellatrix had spotted Alphard. The ugly bastard stood in the middle of the chaos with a necklace of eagle feathers and tasteless gold-embroidered robes. Regulus breathed in deeply, silencing his emotions with now practiced ease. There was no time for distractions.

From across the room, Alphard seemed to be talking. Half the photo-cameras were down, blasted aside or even to pieces by the house elf, but now the elf vanished, hopefully ordered far away.

"Let's keep the party going!" Alphard bellowed as the music restarted, not quite drowning out the cries of people stepping on each other. Alphard leasurely walked to one of the floating cauldrons and dove a ladle in an orange potion. He gulped the content down. Again. And again, through increasing gales of euphoric laughter. From the horrified expressions of the people near him, some who tried to physically stop him (those slipped on the suddenly greasy floor), that wasn't something you wanted to do.

Alphard Black died laughing. Literally. By the time cousin Bella lifted the imperius curse, he was too drugged to notice what was happening. The remaining cameras in a bag and their wands back in their pockets, The two apparated away, leaving the panicked crowd behind.

The picture of Algernon Longbottom in a compromising position with a vampire lady proved to be one of the most valuable. His wife, Enid nee Diggory, was livid, and strife among the great Light families was invaluable these days. Rowena Crouch, old Bartemius' little sister, on her knees and sucking obscenely on a bottle of firewhisky while a crowd cheered her on, was also quite the treat.

Sirius had predictably boasted about Alphard leaving him a pile of gold. Surrounded by Gryffindor teenagers who considered being rebellious a point of pride, he failed to grasp the social cost of such an association.

At first, Bellatrix had been skeptical of Regulus' plan. _'Why d'you want Sirius to come into a boatload of money?'_

_'Nobody respects Alphard. Sirius acts like he heroically broke away from his malevolent family. Like his pranks against Slytherins are justice. People starting to associate him with Alphard is the first step to making him nothing.'_

_'That's some Cissy-grade passive-aggressive scheme.'_

_'If I go after him directly, or after his friends, it'll feed his Gryffindor complex. He needs to be at the center of the attention, and admired. I know him : when people start doubting him, and laughing at him, he'll lash out. He's not _Light_. Gryffindors will die for someone who fits their ideals but if you fall from grace, they're the first to turn on you.' _Regulus had struggled not to smile as cousin Bella had exaggerated her pout._ 'I did consider burning his face so he'd stop flaunting his inherited looks one second and spitting on us the next.'_

_Bellatrix had perked up, opening her arms as if to say 'and why aren't we doing that?'._

_' - but, that's easy. I don't want to show we're more powerful. I want him to realize he was _wrong_.' _He'd taken a slow breath._ 'You never went after Andromeda.'_

Bellatrix had smiled thinly, it wasn't an amused smile, but one that said she respected his bravery.

_'See, Meda was a good sister before she wasn't. To be fair, I'd have to make the great Lord Black pay, and Father... and Mother too, I guess, before I punished her. But Sirius... I daresay I liked our little troublemaker more than _you_ did.'_

There was little that was likable about Sirius. He'd flouted rules all his life and Regulus didn't doubt that the minute he was out of Hogwarts, he'd care nothing for laws. It was just a matter of time before even his 'friends' started seeing him as the selfish, egocentric waste of space he was. Regulus would just nudge things to hurry the process along.

* * *

"It's done, Sir."

Father frowned, barely lifting his eyes from the letter he'd been writing. "What?" he impatiently said. Like Regulus was some bothersome child interrupting important work.

"Alphard won't be causing anymore strife. I'm tired of the power disowned Blacks still hold over this house."

This time, Father stood up. The man stared at Regulus like he was seeing him for the first time. His jaw stiffened, then he abruptly softened, looking more tired but... happier.

"You... you did something I couldn't do," he allowed. "Good. Well done, Regulus. You've been choosing your friends well."

Regulus had meant to stoically tear from Father the acknowledgment that he had been wrong to treat Regulus like an afterthought for all these years. Instead, a treacherous smile tugged at his lips. _Ah, screw it. _Regulus stopped fighting it and let a broad childish grin light his face. "Bellatrix had fun, I'll try to make her fond enough of me to make sure she forgets about the whole Black blood curse incident."

It was oddly fun to make Father flinch. Fun and surreal. Father had always been so... stern. But Father's paleness made Regulus' stomach tighten with sudden guilt.

"It's alright, Father. She knows it was the Dark Lord's plan. Just... don't fight her, Sir. It's not worth it. She won't hurt you unless you hurt her again. And the Dark Lord knows we're valuable. I mean... he doesn't keep me around for my magical prowess."

To have Father clasp him on both shoulders, his thin lips curling, and sigh, a sigh that said _'thanks for cleaning up my mess, son',_ made Regulus' heart swell. A new smile dug into his cheeks. He barely dared believe it, but maybe he and Father could become _close_.

His heart still racing happily, Regulus looked down. "Now I've got to tell Mother her brother's dead. Wish me luck."

He turned to the door, warmed by Father's benevolent gaze.

"Good luck, Regulus."

His back to his father, Regulus almost tripped. Predictably, he was grinning like a child, _again_. _Merlin, he was soft. _

Mother he greeted with a hug. She'd been reading Aries Black's diary, which she usually did when she was in a brooding mood. Aries had been a master of illusions, who'd crafted visions so horrifying his victims had turned mad.

"_What_?" Despite her brusqueness, Mother's voice had never held the same bite as Father's. Regulus sat next to her on the couch and slung his arm around her shoulders. He smiled when she stiffened. Walburga's shoulders slumped. She looked perfect, as always, too perfect, betraying thick makeup charms and an exhaustion she was too young to feel.

"Mum, you've got to stop worrying that people are laughing at us."

He was going to convince her. He was going to make her stand up straight and forget Sirius. She and Father would see there was nothing wrong with a family with just the three of them.

"Who do you want to be invited by?" he continued as she side-eyed him.

"What do you mean?"

"Among high society, who do you want to invite you and beg you for a favor?" He smiled. "You're not allowed to answer Dumbledore and I'd rather you didn't say Bartemius Crouch."

Mother cocked her head, a sly smile slowly crinkling her eyes. "Are you making promises here, Reggie? Begging, you say? How about Amber Greengrass? I wouldn't mind seeing that McMillian bitch on her knees either. Abraxas -"

"Mum," Regulus said mock sternly, "grant me a couple more years before demanding _Lord Malfoy_."

Walburga laughed, the first genuine laughter he'd heard for her in much too long.

It was only later that he admitted he'd organized Alphard's death. She'd stared at him wide-eyed an odd expression on her face, until Regulus realized he recognized it. Because he'd seen it in the mirror.

_'It's alright to be sad, he was your brother,' _he'd said._ 'But we can't let our brothers have so much power over us. They ruin things.'_

Regulus couldn't remember ever having seen Mother weep before, but oddly, he was glad she did now. He held her and she cried on his shoulder and he didn't tell her to stop.

And he was confident when he went to ask Rodolphus if there was a way to get Amber Greengrass to need Mother's help. He knew the Dark Lord had begun to lose patients with the 'neutrals' and that _statements_ would soon be made.

* * *

Regulus took the Dark Mark in July 1978, at the same time as Severus, Avery, and Evan. They stepped into the elite ranks, joining Mulciber and Barty Crouch Jr. Regulus was the youngest by two full years and the only one still at school. Unlike the others, his mark was hidden, appearing on his right forearms only at the Dark Lord's command. Regulus didn't mind being the youngest. On the contrary : the knowledge he'd been found worthy at only sixteen made him stand tall. Long gone were the days where he second guessed himself in Mulciber's presence. Even charming, talented Barty deferred to him, aware Regulus had Bellatrix's ear.

He nevertheless didn't tell Narcissa. He knew she disapproved of the violence and this growing wedge between them saddened him. He didn't tell Sirius, obviously. Few outside their ranks knew the significance of the snake-and-skull mark.

For a time, Regulus was wary of Albus Dumbledore. In the end, he worried needlessly. The Headmaster never took him, or any Slytherin he knew of, aside. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising: Dumbledore had become a politician in the mid-seventies and now defied openly both the Dark Lord and the Ministry. He had little time for Hogwarts, and even less for Slytherins. Perhaps he saw them as too young to matter. Perhaps he knew that the Dark Lord's allies were too clear-sighted for him to confound.

Regulus grew better at Occlumency. He was rarely rattled these days. He didn't doubt the world would soon be theirs. He watched his classmates, those of other houses, to see who were worth the effort. He still spoke to Gladys, so he knew Light's arguments. He also knew the Light was losing, because unlike that Dark Lord, they wasted their time trying to convince the Ministry instead of replacing those spineless buffoons by their own people.

When in the autumn of 1978, masked Death Eaters killed six aurors. For the first time, it was an attack specifically designed to take out aurors rather than a spontaneous battle caused by aurors interfering with Death Eater affairs. The next day, Bartemius Crouch and Minister Minchum gave aurors the right to take any suspect directly to Azkaban, and its never so high number of dementors, to await trial. The politicians' heartfelt speeches had struck a chord in the Ministry and roused their spirits. The five auror captains fiercely proclaimed their support and vowed to spare no efforts.

Two days after the speeches, as the Prophet exalted the bravery of the Ministry's forces, Lord Voldemort struck in broad daylight.

Captains Fenwick's husband had just left Gringotts when he was transfigured into lion cub and skewered by a gleaming trident. Captain Dillon's wife had been practicing with the rest of the Holyhead Harpies when a beam of green light struck her off her broom. Young Captain Prewett's parents had been celebrating their thirtieth anniversary at the Dragon's Perch, and cooing over pictures of six-months old twin grandchildren, when the windows exploded. Twin snakes of cutting glass and dark magic snapped their necks before they could think to flee or fight back.

Witnesses all told similar tales : Lord Voldemort himself, flanked by two or three masked figures. Everything was over in seconds.

The Prophet offered sanitized, reassuring versions. But for the first time, the words 'Civil War' darkened the Prophet's pages. Regulus realized that everyone expected Lord Voldemort to win when the Ministry declared it would '_resist'_. You didn't _resist_ against a weaker foe. You _crushed_ them. The resistance, by definition, were not those in power.

During the Winter holidays, Regulus glued the newspaper cover, and those who came after it, to his bedroom's wall, excited to see History unfolding.

* * *

**Winter 1979 - Regulus' 6th year**

"Go, take the kid's hair and drink it," Rodolphus said, with an encouraging slap on Regulus' arm, "They'll come for you. Make sure to be cute and clingy."

A vial of polyjuice in hand, Regulus scrambled over the age-line, occlumency keeping him focused and a glamour disguising his features.

This age-line didn't allow anyone 17 or older through. It wasn't a hastily drawn ward but one powered from century-old runes etched in stone. Doge Cottage was no manor, but it had been warded carefully.

The warded bedroom held a bunk-bed and two little girls huddled together in the lower bunk. The older girl was maybe six, with baby cheeks, tangled brown hair and terrified blue eyes. Regulus tore two strand of her hair by hand : the wand he carried was not his for safety reasons, making all magic feel like he was a fumbling second year.

Still, shoving a kid in a wardrobe and taking her pajamas (and pulling a robe over her because the point wasn't to make the kid freeze to death) wasn't all that difficult. "_Petrificus Totalus_," he whispered. He then obliviated her, just the last few minutes, so she'd never remember his face (the glamour was an extra precaution), and slammed the wardrobe door shut.

Her sister, barely out of toddlerhood, was howling now, kicking against the sheets he'd magically tied around her limbs. Wincing at the noise, Regulus vanished his own clothes and, stark naked, swallowed his Polyjuice Potion.

It had never tasted _good_, but he'd swear that bloody brew got more awful every single time. Taking the body of a six year old wasn't what he'd expected Rod to want from him. Not that Regulus had hesitated when his Dark Mark had burned. At 3 AM, not one of his dorm-mates had stirred to ask him where he was sneaking off to.

Regulus pulled the girl's pajamas over his own shivering body and then turned to his 'sister'. Funny how she didn't look so little from a six year old's perspective. He hastily unbound her. "_Obliviate!". _He winced at the high-pitched baby voice coming out of his lips. But finally, the kid shut up.

As the dazed little girl rubbed her eyes, Regulus slammed his little foot on the wand he was using. The wood cracked. He shoved the shards at the back of a drawer full of toys.

"Bryony, what-" The three-year-old gasped in fear as the walls shook.

Shouts filtered through the closed door, heavy steps, curses. Aurors. Or the Order of the Phoenix.

"Don't worry," Regulus whispered back. "They're coming to save us."

The kid, _Hester_, sniffled, new tears springing out of her eyes. She had the blonde hair of little kids and slept in a braid. When she clung onto Regulus, Regulus hugged her back. There was no point in being a twit, and the kids weren't the target anyway. But Grandpa Elphias should have thought harder about the girls' safety before he'd thrown his lot so vocally with Dumbledore.

Regulus' head pounded lightly, and he realized he'd not considered how turning into a young child might impact his occlumency. His mind stayed his own when he used polyjuice, but the brain itself... _Merlin, how developed was a six year old's brain anyway?_

The muffled sound of widows exploding betrayed that the fighting was getting nearer. Hester gasped, clinging on harder. Regulus shuddered, feeling tears spring in his own eyes. There seemed to be no filter between his subconscious and his body. _Bloody little kids._ Still, tears would be useful. He let them come.

"Don't worry, Hester," he whispered again, dragging them away from door and windows just in case. He felt so naked without a wand. His eyes darted to the wardrobe, and he desperately hoped his body-bind would hold.

The runes of the age-line suddenly flashed golden. The newcomer had known the password to deactivate them. _Order of the Phoenix. _Regulus' tearful eyes widened when he recognized he witch.

Dorcas Meadowes lifted them both up in a tight hug. Wrinkles lined her face, but the strength in her arms betrayed age still had to sink its claws in her. "It's okay, darlings, you'll be okay." The tug of a portkey soon drowned out the sounds of battle.

His head and stomach were still somersaulting when his feet touched the ground once more. The remains of a meal Regulus hadn't eaten ended up all over the grass. _Merlin_. He didn't miss being a kid. Hester was howling again, disoriented by the portkey on top of everything.

They were in a yard with a fenced swimming pool and flower beds. Twin lamp-posts lit the garden, the lack of flickering betraying magical lights disguised as electricity. The stars weren't many or bright, this was city sky. "Come, let's get you inside, you were very brave."

Regulus let Meadowes lead him, her hand warm on his back. He silently curled up next to her on the cosy living-room's plush sofa, enjoying putting his shoes on it without being scolded more than he should have. Hester's crying had become sniffles. Still, the sound made his own eyes sting.

Hester's sudden giggle had him follow her gaze. It was the man in the portrait. Red-haired, big-nosed and making faces at them, with a black unicorn fowl playfully rearing next to him.

Regulus' throat went dry. Gladys had told him about this portrait. This wasn't a random safe house. This was Dorcas Meadowes' own home. The place Gladys had spent half her childhood, running around with her cousins.

Regulus forced his mental defenses back in place. His heartbeat slowed, the distracting thoughts faded slightly. He knew what he had to do. Despite the polyjuice, the Dark Mark's pulsed under his skin, its magic too entwined with his to be undone by a simple potion.

"Are the others who were fighting the bad guys going to come here?" Regulus said, staring at his feet. "What if they're hurt?" he added as the woman sat back closer to him. He stretched out on the sofa and set his face on her legs. His eyes instinctively closed as her warm hand patted his (Bryony Doge's) hair. The easy affection was rather baffling. Meadowes wasn't even Bryony's grandmother. _Hufflepuffs. _(Ravenclaw actually, his memory supplied, but a Ravenclaw who'd raised _Hufflepuffs_).

"Don't worry, they'll be here soon. Why don't I get you some candy, you sure deserve it."

There was something about kid taste-buds, because Regulus couldn't remember candy tasting _that_ good.

He jolted upright as five new people suddenly crowded the living-room.

"Daddy!" Hester scrambled off the couch and rushed to where the group had apparated. Everett Doge was half-conscious and carried by two men Regulus didn't recognize. Next to them stood Marisa Fenwick, a nasty curse-gash on her arm, and a very grim Alastor Moody.

Everyone looked _huge _and Moody especially made Regulus clutch his knees to his chin, filled with instinctive terror.

"Those masked bastards were targeting Marisa."

"Them the fools," Fenwick rasped with a tight smile. "We identified Gareth Selwyn, and his pal won't ever be using a wand again. I'll be fine." The woman had been one of the first to go after the Dark Lord's allies, spearheading the aurors' attacks with Moody already in 1976. Losing her husband to the Dark Lord hadn't slowed her down, on the contrary.

Regulus crossed his arms, hugging himself, and whispered _'Voldemort'_ in the crook of his arm. His Dark Mark-that-wasn't-there burned alive, tearing a gasp from him. '_Won't ever be using a wand again._' _Which one?_ Worry for Rod tightened his throat.

"Bryony-"

He hid his head in his knees. Doge was calling for his daughter but Regulus _couldn't_. _Merlin, why was occluding so hard !_

"Hey," Regulus struggled weakly as Dorcas lifted him up, "Your dad will be fine. We've healed his wounds, he's just drained. Nothing magic can't fix. Come give him a hug."

The woman had barely taken a step with him in her arms when a streak of green light shot straight for Everett Doge.

Hester screamed. Dorcas spurred into action. Everything became a blur. Regulus recognized Bellatrix's dark conjured tentacles. Fenwick fell, paralyzed, and the Dark Lord caught her. An impossibly strong blasting cursed shoved them all backwards. The Dark Lord was gone, the auror captain with him. Something yanked Regulus forcefully.

Seconds later, Regulus gasped, realizing he'd just been taken away by a new portkey. Then again, Dorcas was an expert warden, she probably made her own. She was holding onto Moody. Unexpected relief filled Regulus when he spotted Hester in Moody's arms.

"How did they get us?" Moody exploded. "How did they just walk past-"

"The wards _weren't_ compromised, Alastor! I don't know how -"

Something warm and wet touched Regulus' side. He looked down. Dorcas' arm was bleeding. A shard, coated in venom. Nero Mulciber's specialty. The elder Mulciber had known the Dark Lord from school. _Tom Riddle,_ Bellatrix had revealed a few weeks after they'd taken the mark. Severus had looked like his birthday had come early. Regulus had quickly decided being half-blood didn't matter when you were from Slytherin's line and that bloody powerful (and if cousin Bella didn't care, why would _he_?).

"I've got you," Dorcas said through shuddering breaths. "We'll be fine. I'm so sorry, children."

Regulus stared at the witches bleeding arm. It wasn't healing. Of course it wasn't. Dark curses did that.

"Put them to sleep, Dorcas, we need to get -."

"No!" Regulus grabbed Meadowes' wand and kicked hard, twisting out of her arms.

Moody's disarming spell was weak, suitable to harmlessly take a wand from a distraught small child. Regulus' wordless _Levicorpus_, powered with the increasing panic taking over him, struck the auror by surprise.

Meadowes met his eyes and suddenly she _knew. _"Run, they're coming," Regulus muttered, unable to tear his eyes from the woman's wound. A few inches, and that shard would have gutted _him_.

The witch grabbed Moody and Hester and disapparated. Bellatrix was seconds behind, and soon followed by others. When she spotted Regulus alone, she removed her silver mask and hood with a huff.

"Where are they? Bloody portkeys, I wanted to duel Moody! Slippery cunt." The witch grabbed something from her back and Regulus realized it was the real Bryony. "Those twits gave me kid duty because I'm a girl." She shoved the slumped child next to him. "_You_ babysit."

"The _twits_ gave you kid duty because you can duel with a kid strapped to your back." 'Twit' Rabastan didn't look apologetic at all. Next to him Rodolphus smiled at Regulus, as if this was just a regular night out. Regulus smiled back weakly. "Who lost an arm?" Three of theirs were missing.

"Your dumb cousin." _Evan_, shit. "Told him to stand guard and vanish but big boy wanted to take a shot at Fenwick."

"Lost them," Bellatrix spat, scowling at the results of her portkey-tracing spell. "Let's go home."

They apparated in front of manor grounds and walked through the wards before apparating once more inside the building. Regulus, still in Bryony's body, squinted in the darkness before recognizing the place. They were at Nott's.

Regulus' breath stopped when he spotted Marisa Fenwick. She was knocked out, eyes shut, and not bleeding, but her hands... They'd been badly burned, as useless as stumps. For the first time in years he thought of Benjamin Fenwick, four years above him at Hogwarts, keeper for the Ravenclaw team. He turned his eyes away, his throat dry. Next to Fenwick, two terrified looking large lizards cowered in a cage.

"Seeing us torture and kill her men might make her talk more easily than anything we do to her... We might even free one to bait the Order," the Dark Lord said with a thin, satisfied smiled. "How far do you think they'll go, for one of theirs?" He turned to Bellatrix. "Bella, why are you all back already?"

The witch jerked her thumb at Bryony-Regulus. "They left Reggie behind."

"Moody was suspicious," Regulus managed, his voice still stupid and six years old."They wanted to put me to sleep and my reaction gave me away."

"You should have let them put you to sleep, fool." Regulus wilted under the Dark Lord's unflinching gaze. "You've cost us information on a second safe-house and two excellent hostages."

The Dark Lord's pulsing magic echoed in the Dark Mark, sending dull throbbing pain through Regulus' arm. The teenager hated his new body with a renewed vengeance when uncontrollable shudders and tears turned him into a blubbering fool.

"It's this body, my Lord," he said through his tears. "it's... it reacts too strongly to everything. I think it's because it's so young. It's not just the muscles that are weak, the brain too. I wouldn't be crying and shivering like this if I was myself."

Lord Voldemort frowned. The red glow to his eyes seemed to recede, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "You're saying that polyjuice affects... Ah, _interesting_." Regulus hoped he'd struck the Dark Lord's scholarly fiber hard enough to distract him from Regulus' failure.

But the respite was short. Regulus, himself again after a quarter hour had passed, had nowhere to hide. At least, he'd had time to collect himself. He'd never liked his own body so very much.

Bellatrix's eyes were oddly bright as she handed Regulus back his wand. "Cast an imperius on the kid."

"_What_? Whatever for?" Bryony was on a conjured cushion on the floor, her knees to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs as sleep and fear warred behind her wide eyes. She'd been hit with a curse than made her unable to remember faces or voices, freeing them from the need to use masks or glamours.

Regulus froze when Bellatrix's wand caressed his jaw line. "Because you wouldn't want people here to think you used the polyjuice as an _excuse_, would you? You buckled and lost us Moody. I _wanted_ Alastor Moody. He's training Sirius, you know? Whispering lullabies about Dumbledore's greatness to your idiot brother." She slung her arm around Regulus' waist and turned him around so he was facing Bryony. Her curls tickled his neck and her breath was warm on his ear. "So show me I can count on you, Reggie."

Unnerved, Regulus lifted his wand. His hands were clammy.

"Imperio," he said firmly. Bryony flinched. Rod, Rabastan, Bellatrix and the Dark Lord were all staring. "Do a cartwheel," Regulus said, feeling suddenly very silly.

The kid just stared back.

Bellatrix sighed. "Do try to mean it..."

Alright. He wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted the kid taken home. He'd send her back to Meadowes with their compliments. A nice snake embroidered in that pillow Bryony was sitting on perhaps.

"_Imperio_!"

This time, he felt the magic leave him, and he felt _her_, her magic or whatever it was, there for the grabbing. But somehow it was... slippery._ He couldn't quite -_

Bryony, now wide awake, screamed. Regulus gasped, doubling over. It was like someone had kicked him in the stomach.

Rabastan and Bellatrix snickered, and Regulus realized Bryony's magic had flared to defend her.

Increasingly frustrated despite his mental shields, he tried again. And again. _His magic kept slipping -_

He gasped in pain as an invisible hand grabbed him, like huge bony fingers pressing with impossible strength on his shoulders and spine. He dropped to his knees, his jaw clenched as he fought to suppress a cry.

"Look at me," the Dark Lord softly ordered.

Regulus did, his nerves and muscles burning as he fought to raise his eyes. He willed himself to meet the wizard's pitiless gaze. To stay as impassive as he could.

"Your polyjuice theory has merit," Lord Voldemort said after a few seconds, and Regulus might have gasped in relief had the pressure on his lungs allowed him to breathe. "But I see you are occluding."

Bellatrix groaned. "You idiot. Regulus, you can't use dark arts while occluding. Quit it. _Now_." She yanked him upwards. The Dark Lord's bindings dissolved.

Regulus had no choice. His head spinning as he struggled to breathe properly without looking panicked, he turned back towards Bryony, wand raised.

Her new screams suddenly stopped being an annoyance. The became _screams_. A child's screams. Regulus swallowed, Dorcas Meadowes' bleeding wound. _Nero Mulciber hadn't cared that he could have struck Regulus. _The witch's comforting voice and easy hugs. Gladys, telling him about the portrait. Bryony screaming. Screaming so _loudly_.

_She doesn't know her Father's dead. _

"Reggie, you baby." Cousin Bella shook her head. "_Imperio_. Pay attention to how it feels."

_Pay what?_ The voice was everything. _What did he feel?_ He felt nothing. Everything was irrelevant, except the voice.

"Summon a knife," the voice said. He did. "Stab the kid."

_Stab_. W_hy? Why not? _He stabbed but with little force. It was just a gash. Bryony whimpered, now petrified in terror. Regulus blinked. The voice had stopped speaking. He didn't know what to do.

He blinked again. And gasped. It was like a fog had been lifted. He jumped away from Bryony and dropped the bloody knife he was holding. His eyes flickered to Rod. He saw some concern there, but nothing that suggested he disapproved of his wife's actions.

"See?" Bellatrix said breathily, a disquieting smile on her lips. "When you're imperioed, you're _nobody_. _I_ became your will. But that only works if your will is strong enough to drown hers, Reggie. But maybe baby Reggie -"

"Oh, come off it!" Regulus snapped. Cousin Bella had _imperioed_ him. _What. The. Fuck._ "I'll never match you. Why do you care that I can cast unforgivables? I _can't_ okay? I need occlumency. Maybe later, I won't, but today, I need it. None of you need me to cast the imperius –"

"Then why do we need you, Reggie?" Bellatrix's voice was suddenly low and dangerous.

"Politics, recruiting, infiltration, support... Handling the hostage," he said, picking up a shivering Bryony who clutched on by instinct. "I'm no hard-hitting first liner. Try to make me one and I _will_ disappoint you."

He was standing between Bellatrix and Bryony. His cousin noticed.

"You've got a problem with me having fun with the kid?"

"Do you _need_ to? Are you sure your dark arts are under control?"

Bellatrix's face twisted. Regulus screamed as twin spiky vines rooted his legs on the spot, panic and pain blurred his vision.

"I don't _need_ anything," she snarled. "_You_ will -"

He couldn't breathe from the pain. He had to - "Kreacher!"

The elf's long fingers were around Regulus' arm and popped him away before Bellatrix's second curse could hit.

Regulus hissed, letting the girl drop in his bed. He punched the wall with a grunt. He'd called Kreacher_ in front of the Dark Lord !_

"Master Reggie _needed_ to be popped," Kreacher said, as if Regulus was pissed off at _him_. "I can be taking the girl back."

"Lossy," Bryony suddenly whispered, staring intently at Kreacher. "LOSSY!"

A confused young house-elf popped into view.

Bryony launched herself at her. "Get me away! Help!"

The two vanished with a loud pop.

Regulus stared at the empty place where the child had been. Relief filled him, but not just. "Bugger," he muttered. Whose house elf was _that_? "Don't we have wards against foreign house-elves?"

Kreacher shook his head apologetically. "Guests of House Black can be calling own house-elves to work magic on themselves. Nobody can be sending house-elves from outside or getting house-elves to work magic on Black blood, Black property, or other guests of House Black."

_Right_. New worry began too fill Regulus. Kreacher would be in so much trouble. "Listen Kreacher, I... if someone gives you trouble, you get to me, okay. If you're... hurt or anything. That's an order, if you're hurt you come to me, that's a summons. Tell Mother you were protecting me before anyone can tell her otherwise."

Kreacher nodded. "Master should not be worrying for Kreacher. Master should be going back to school."

Five thirty AM, and he had seven hours of classes tomorrow. _Ugh_. At least his Dark Mark didn't burn. But the situation was worse than that.

"They'll know Gladys was here now. And the elf saw _me_."

Kreacher's mouth twisted into something grim. "That Kreacher can be fixing. No elf be coming in Black House without leaving magic trace for Black elves to find."

"Need my wand?"

Wide-eyed, Kreacher grasped the wand with both hands. "Don't be telling anyone," he muttered, shaking his head in a very familiar fashion.

As if Regulus cared right now what was proper between wizards and house-elves. "I need that elf to forget where she was and forget _me_, but I don't want her hurt more than necessary."

* * *

Regulus' fingers were trembling when he opened a letter from Bellatrix at breakfast. He was so exhausted he yawned at the parchment that could well hold his death sentence.

_'If you're such a great politician, send us more recruits. Don't show your face before that. You have three months. Don't waste time with the Slytherins.'_

He chuckled wryly, hysteria threatening to take over. He'd have to write Severus. Maybe there was still Felix Felicis around in Morocco. He'd need a whole barrel.

Kreacher had caught up with Lossy before anyone had sought to get the elf's memories in a pensieve. Regulus was safe, but he couldn't help wondering what had happened to Bryony.

He blanched when he spotted Gladys at the Hufflepuff table and focused aggressively on his breakfast. The argument they'd had months ago about Dark Arts resurfaced, and this time Glady's words were much harder to dismiss.

_Had Bellatrix always been like this? Had she just been tired and angry because Regulus had failed or - _ He couldn't forget her _smile_ when she'd cast the imperius, the way she'd breathed hard like she'd swallowed an euphoria elixir. _And the Dark Lord, hadn't his eyes glinted when he'd made Regulus kneel so painfully? _

Regulus took a slow breath, clearing his mind by habit, then stopped. His feelings trickled back in, whispering, then roaring. He had to toughen up, or Bellatrix would chew him alive.

He could feel it, the invisible dark mark under his skin. Instead of pride, it filled him with fear.

He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulders, letting his thoughts wander as he strode out over the grounds, letting their echo fill his mind, scream terrifying questions he didn't know how to answer.

But fear could be turned into power. Everything could.

Magic swirled, channeled by his wand. Without words to guide it, without any structure but Regulus' need to feel strong, to feel protected, it drained his energy and emotions. But it was there, and powerful. _That_ was true magic. The magic the Dark Lord wanted.

Perhaps cousin Bella's story of her first meeting of the Dark Lord was the reason Regulus' magic had shaped itself into a conjuration. Regulus gingerly brushed his knuckles against the black bear's fur. The creature stood on its hind legs, barely more than three foot tall: a familiar more than a monster. Its, _her_, paw came to rest on Regulus' knee. When the teenager sat, the bear draped over his back, as if he was a tree. Its weight was oddly comforting.

And without occlumency, Regulus could breathe again, his mind blessedly empty. He took out his charm textbook and began practicing the incantations Flitwick had to be currently teaching his classmates.

Fear stirred once more, as well a muddy choking guilt, when Regulus recognized the figure walking up to him. A new yawn escaped Regulus' jaw and he had to smile wryly. The bear had taken so much out of him that he had to worry more about falling asleep than dark arts clouding his emotions.

The bear grunted as Gladys got within six feet of him. She froze and slowly sat to be at Regulus' level, still four feet away. The bear rolled off Regulus and sat too, mimicking their positions, its stare never leaving Gladys.

"Practicing your conjurations?" she said with an inquisitive frown.

"I want to see how long it lasts. That's one hour for now."

"Reg, light conjurations don't last more than a couple of minutes." She sighed. "You don't usually skip class. I'm worried about you."

"Sometimes light magic's not enough. I... I know there's a price to pay. But... sometimes other choices cost more. You're never scared for your grandmother? You're sure Dumbledore can look out for his people?"

Gladys' expression darkened. "I... It's not like that. They're not Dumbledore's _followers_, they're people working together for justice. They're doing their best and of course I'm bloody terrified." She smiled slightly at the bear. "Its kind of cute." The tight grip on her wand showed that she nevertheless could tell it was some kind of guardian spell.

"Why don't you take control of the Ministry? Force all ministry workers who want a salary to fight with Dumbledore instead of hoping you get enough volunteers in the Order? It just... you'll get all the best people killed. There's no justice in that."

That earned his a wide-eyed stare. "Wait, you now agree we _should_ fight against You Know Who?"

"I don't see how it's your grandmother's job to die for justice the Ministry never cared about enforcing. What's the point in powerful mages killing each other off so that the Ministry's people can leave their hiding places and get their jobs back the moment everything's quiet again? I mean, the survivors might get medals but nothing will change except the number of graves."

Gladys shuddered, but she shook her head slowly. "Reg, you assume You Know Who cares about politics. What do you think is more likely, that he can't truly kill Minchum, or that he's happy to let things fester as an excuse to hunt down the Order? Despite his claims, he seems to have more of a problem with the powerful who don't bow to him than with the weak."

That... Regulus couldn't quite deny. "So why aren't you playing it subtle? What do you think will happen if the Order disbands?"

"Those Death Eaters will bust through every house, using legilimency and torture, to track Dumbledore down. Only, as long as the Order stands, people won't be fighting for their lives _alone_."

"I'm sorry," Regulus muttered. _How could he possibly get the Meadowes out of this mess?_ "Just... you really shouldn't put off any conversation you want to have with your Gran."

Gladys' eyes shimmered and she looked away. Lips pinched she gingerly reached out towards Bear.

Bear moved her paws, as if to say _hi_.

Regulus smiled weakly, feeling wretched.

* * *

The Order rescued Marisa Fenwick four weeks after her capture, a shadow of the person she'd been, kept alive by dark arts and to send the aurors pensieve memories of her torture. Sirius killed Ardra Travers. Mulciber barely escaped.

Regulus saw an opportunity and had his former housemate give him the memory of that encounter. Making a picture from a memory was a tricky process, but Regulus had begun taking an interest in photograph-modification since he'd learned it was a trick the Prophet used. He still would occasionally take pictures of the Hogwarts corridors and then have fun moving portraits and ghosts from one to the other, switching things around. Because it cleared his mind, and Hogwarts was beautiful. He needed that.

Today's picture was huge, hanging in the Great Hall like the end of year banners. The writing is red and gold, "A Victory For the Light!', the letters drip slightly, like blood.

Sirius' gray eyes were remorseless as he gazed upon twenty-seven-year-old Ardra Travers' broken body, his arm still outstretched, proof he was quite ready to finish the job if she so much as twitched. Travers' wand-arm had been blasted off, her chest caved with rib bones sticking out. It wasn't pretty, or clean, or heroic.

In the corner, James Potter was pale, his jaw set, but it's obvious he'd rather be anywhere else. Sweat and dirt matted the thick hair he'd once so often mussed to impress the ladies.

A few Gryffindors cheered but most didn't. Everyone stayed subdued long after a horrified McGonagall transfigured cutlery into a crowd of monkeys who rolled up the picture and took it out of sight (they'd first tried to vanish, cut, blast it, even throw conjured paint over it, but wizardkind had developed a library's worth of spells to protect photographs from domestic accidents).

Sirius was no hero. He was no better than them. Regulus would make sure everyone understood that. The Gryffindors looked ill, and _good_. They thought they were the saviors, they skirted around words like _murder_ when it came to their own. Time to face reality.

* * *

**April 1979**

When his Dark Mark burned. Regulus hesitated. It wasn't a strong burn. An invitation more than a summons. He still had two weeks before he would have to report.

But he _did_ have names for the Dark Lord. Most students saw him as close to some of the Dark Lord's allies but harmless and so tested the waters with him, often revealing more than they realized.

Funny how, despite individual differences, there were patterns specific to each house : Ravenclaws easily believed that the Dark Lord had to be rational. That his ambition was for an orderly government once this 'revolution' was over. The more cynical Ravenclaws didn't hesitate to negotiate wands and transport for muggleborn friends, muggles or squib relatives, convinced the Dark Lord had greater means to secure that than the Order. They weren't wrong (as long as their price was right).

Hufflepuffs responded the most to promises of safety and often demanded spellcraft knowledge or warded land. They cared less for who was in power, but their empathy made them hate the violence. More than anybody, they recoiled at the thought of collateral damage for a greater goal.

Gryffindors were hardest because they held their principles close and the Dark Lord was _evil _(and a Slytherin, with a lot of Slytherin generals, fighting Gryffindor Dumbledore, who had a lot of Gryffindor generals). They found resistance _glamorous_. But some believed that evil could be rescued if only it was exposed to enough good, and Gryffindors _hated_ to back away from a challenge. Others were convinced they were so clever they would succeed in infiltrating Death Eater ranks.

Regulus apparated at what he assumed to be a rural property belonging to the Crabbes and realized there was actually quite a crowd. Perhaps fifty masked figures in Black, gathered in a loose circle. Regulus clenched his jaw as his marked arm spasmed. Cold fury radiated from the Dark Lord.

Before him, Avery, Mulciber and cousin Evan. Dread began to pool in Regulus' stomach. _Why had the Dark Lord gathered such an audience? _

The Dark Lord's voice was deceptively calm and more sibilant than Regulus remembered. "I asked you to bring me Fabian and Gideon Weasley."

"We killed MacKaulay!" Mulciber turned to the crowd with that smile of his, as if this was Slytherin House and he'd just won the Quidditch match for them. "You should have seen his face when Avery imperioed his son to fuck his muggle swine of a mother. He -"

"Enough. The MacKaulays were _bait_, not our mark. That you stayed to indulge -"

"We didn't expect the Prewett sister to be disillusioned behind her brothers. She gave birth to twins less than a year ago! Next time,-"

"_Crucio_!"

Mulciber's cry tore through the crowd. A few gasped, but soon there was no noise save for Mulciber's agonized screams. A deathly stillness had gripped the crowd. They'd seen the Dark Lord torture enemies before, but never one of theirs.

Mulciber ran out of breath before the Dark Lord's spell powered out. The twenty year old was on the ground, sobbing, his robes soiled, as he struggled and failed to organize his trembling limbs into a semblance of dignity.

"Do not interrupt me, boy. Do not boast about disobeying me. You failed me when you let Fenwick be rescued. You failed me again today." He turned to cousin Evan, cowering with Avery behind Mulciber. They were both on their knees, a picture of abject subservience that had Regulus shiver. "Nero and Brannon are old friends. You were born of strong blood, but if you fail to live to your potential, what shall I do with you?"

"My Lord, we won't fail," cousin Evan managed.

The Dark Lord smiled mirthlessly. "I'll make sure to give you an _easy_ task." He then turned to the figure on his right. The silver mask vanished, revealing Bellatrix. She didn't look upset or even uneasy, on the contrary.

"_Crucio_," she breathed with a smile, her voice a unnerving mix of calm and thrill.

Knowing what would happen made it worse. The assembled flinched almost as one as Avery screamed, writhing in agony. He gasped after a few seconds, and immediately screamed louder.

"If you'd been less eager to _play_ with the muggle and her son, Avery, Molly Weasley might not have surprised you." The Dark Lord smiled, red eyes gleaming. Regulus could recall having thought the man handsome but tonight, he struggled not to look away. "I can forgive honest failure when the challenge is great, but this... this is an insult. I will not tolerate anything but your best."

The Dark Lord acknowledged Regulus with the slightest bow of his head then. As if to say '_you know the rules now._'

* * *

**Summer 1979**

Regulus had been sitting silently on his bedroom's armchair for the better part of an hour.

_'I need a house elf.' _

_'Kreacher, obey the Dark Lord as you would Father.'_

Regulus had made sure to speak before Father had thought to. Kreacher didn't obey Father like he obeyed Regulus. Of course, Kreacher did not defy_ Lord Black_, but there was a difference between commands that bound you and wishes you _wanted_ to fully fulfill. Over the years, Kreacher and Regulus had created their little private space made secure by omissions.

_Whatever did the Dark Lord need Kreacher for? Why hadn't he asked Bellatrix for Bean? Or one of the Malfoy elves?_

Regulus sucked in a breath. For the first time, he'd dreaded the summer holidays and now... He fought the urge to occlude, to give up and be the perfect little soldier. His pride forbade him to. And loyalty. Kreacher deserved better.

Also, by focusing on Kreacher, Regulus could feel their magical bond, like a bracelet you wore everyday and forgot about if you weren't specifically paying attention to it.

Minutes before, the bond had begun to, for the lack of a better word, fray.

Doing nothing was agonizing. He had ordered Kreacher, months before to come to him if he was hurt, but if the Dark Lord had ordered him to stay...

Regulus put his face in his hands. _What did he risk? Not his life. The cruciatus? It was just pain._ He'd never forgive himself.

"Kreacher," he whispered. "Kreacher, come here," he repeated more firmly, pushing himself upright. _Why wasn't he answering? _"Kreacher!"

After three horrible seconds, the elf finally popped at his feet, desperately pale and wheezing wretchedly. Regulus cradled him with a horrified gasp.

Unexpected rage surged through him. Kreacher didn't deserve this. Kreacher was family, not some _thing_ you used and cast away. A horrible hiccup exited Kreacher's lips, his chest spasmed erratically, and his heart - _No_. He could not die.

Kreacher _would_ _not_ die. Magic bled from Regulus' skin to his wand and into the elf's shaking body. "Heal yourself," Regulus hissed. "Don't you dare die."

He didn't let go as the elf retched, a potion of some kind mixed with bile and blood.

_Why?_ _Why poison Kreacher -_

Regulus' arms shook, and his eyes fluttered with sudden exhaustion. _Merlin_. He'd not be using magic for two days at least. It had been close. Too close.

Fury still pounded in his chest. Even if the Dark Lord hadn't know that Kreacher was more than just_ the elf_ to Regulus, letting Kreacher die was tantamount to taking a shit in Father's food during dinner. That wasn't how you treated allies you had _any_ respect for.

_But who was he kidding? When was the last time the Dark Lord had shown them any respect?_

Regulus stared at his Dark Mark. The snake, the skull, they'd seemed beautiful, powerful, entrancing. Now... a nightmare was branded in his skin. The Dark Lord had apparated unannounced, like one walked in a muggle house, because Regulus' Dark Mark was to him gateway through the wards. Even their _home_ was his now.

Unexpectedly, Regulus thought Lily Evans. Her name had been whispered in Death Eater ranks after that article she'd sneaked in the Prophet last Spring. Where she'd exposed Death Eater actions and accused the Ministry of covering things up to make themselves look better. It should've gone on Regulus' bedroom wall, that one, like all articles that spoke of the Dark Lord's power. Except seeing the list of the dead, muggles, mudbloods, and mudblood lovers mostly, names that meant nothing to Regulus but... so _many_... Regulus had slid it in his drawer, face down, instead. He now clearly recalled the last time conversation he'd had with Evans, years ago.

_"It's not politics, Black," _she'd said._ "It's people's lives."_

_Merlin, he'd been so blind._

"What did he want?" Regulus demanded, eyes still bright with fury. "Kreacher, what was worth your _life_?"

* * *

**Author's note : **

What strikes me as so tragic is that Regulus is barely an adult when he finds out about the Horcrux. I think I accidentally made him one year younger than canon does (in both cases, he's sixteen when he's marked), but 17 or 18, he's in way over his head.

**A****n aside on Sirius : **In canon, people like Moody, McGonagall or Dumbledore didn't question that Sirius had betrayed the Potters (to their defense, they were convinced he was secret keeper, Sirius did say he was guilty, and they had no other suspects). So my take is that Sirius, for an Order member, was particularly ruthless and violent (and few aside from the Marauders and Lily saw his better side). The fact that he was a Black, knowledgeable in dark magic, and that he'd been a bully as a student didn't help. Also (canon, but yet to happen in this story), Sirius being reinstated by Orion as heir of House Black must have looked fishy.

**So, what do y'all think? **


	21. R: The End of House Black

What saved Regulus was that the Dark Lord was too busy to meet with him personally. Gone were the Order of the Phoenix's early-days fumbling, Dumbledore's people were increasingly organized. Azkaban's dementors had rallied to the Dark Lord's side and swooped down onto the Ministry. Once bustling halls were now empty, the Wizengamot's chamber silent. Most of Britain hid, waiting out the war. Grim reports of fugitives being found by Death Eaters, even after they've let the Isles, or of what happened to loved ones who'd stayed behind, kept all but the bravest or most desperate from attempting the journey.

During the summer, Regulus had been tasked to spent three days a week with Lucius and Abraxas, to be groomed for his position as Lord Black, and to share with the Malfoys everything he'd learned at Hogwarts so they could plan their future hostages and recruits.

But ever since Kreacher had come home half-dead, Regulus struggled to not see the people behind the names. He had nightmares about Bryony. Often he _was_ Bryony. Trapped in a small child's body, he watched his own father die, felled by the killing curse. He saw Marisa Fenwick's torture. Except sometimes it wasn't Fenwick but Gladys, or Sirius, or _him_. Sometimes, he tried to apparate away, but his magic wouldn't work. He would try to run, but his legs wouldn't move. His would scream for Kreacher, but no help would come. Or worse, Kreacher would come and then slump in a flash of green. Sometimes Regulus wasn't the tortured but the tortur_er_. He'd wake up in cold sweats, feeling ill.

Regulus searched the Malfoy library, like he searched the family's, for the meaning of _Horcrux_. All he knew was that it was an enchanted dark object. Something instrumental to the Dark Lord's power. Something Regulus didn't dare _ask_ about. After all, the Dark Lord had only boasted to Kreacher because he'd been convinced the elf would take the knowledge to the grave.

* * *

During those afternoons, Regulus would greet Narcissa with smiles, pretending all was fine. She would vanish when the men settled to talk, as if she didn't have as much to teach Regulus than either Malfoy. She would reappear, the perfect hostess, to see him out. No doubt an expert in etiquette would have nodded in approval at the hollow pleasantries they exchanged.

_How is it that in trying to become someone, he'd lost everything he had?_ Who could Regulus call _friend_ these days? Severus wouldn't be back before year's end and suspected nothing of Regulus' doubts. The Regulus Gladys knew was a lie. The Regulus his Slytherin 'friends' knew was just as much a crafted mask. Rodolphus wouldn't understand; he loved a woman who cast the cruciatus and the imperius with wild abandon.

Regulus sighed, putting the tomes away as he heard Narcissa's steps outside the library. Dead ends, again. His frustration melted into something softer, but more painful, as she stood there, elegant and beautiful as ever, to walk him back to the manor gates.

At least the day was lovely. The sun warmed his skin as they strolled through the grand grounds.

"Shall I tell Dobby not to throw away fallen peacock feathers when he's done gathering them?"

_Dobby?_ "You have a new elf?"

"He killed Davy. Luag Urquhart had ordered him to spy and steal from us, and cover his tracks even if that entailed elf-murder." She said it lightly, as if it was as common and inconsequential as water leaking in because a window hadn't been shut well.

Regulus winced. When had _this_ become their normality? "It's not the elf's fault -"

"The creature is alive, fed and taking care of the grounds." The sudden steel in her voice betrayed she cared little for _reasons_ when her family was threatened. "He feels appropriately guilty now that he's bound to us, and as long as he obeys, he'll be _fine_."

Regulus smiled, that warm-but-surface smile that had became a habit, but his eyes caught Narcissa's slightly swollen stomach and suddenly he couldn't pretend. That they'd not once upon a time promised they'd always be family.

"You should go, Reggie." Narcissa's hand was on his arm, its stiffness the only crack in the witch's composure.

He lifted his own hand to grab hers. "I couldn't help noticing... The Eastern guest suite is used. You've kicked Lucius out of his own bed?" A shadow crossed Narcissa's expression. Regulus smiled, biting back wry laughter. "Good. Fight for yourself."

For the first time in months, Narcissa looked at him with unguarded fondness and Regulus had to hug her. She slumped against him, as if standing tall exhausted her, and Regulus found new hate welling in him.

"I'm worried for our family," Narcissa whispered in his neck. It struck him then, that he'd grown taller than her.

"That Malfoy tapestry you'll weave, it'll stay whole," Regulus promised, and he desperately wanted it to be true. He pulled away, squeezing her hands before letting go. "Do save a spot for cousin Reggie."

She cradled her stomach, her guarded smile warning him against empty promises but her eyes grateful. "Our next child will have Regulus as his or her second name."

"You'd saddle an innocent baby girl with 'Regula'? Really?"

Narcissa slapped his arm, lips twitching. "You're supposed to be honored not insolent."

Regulus grinned unabashedly, wishing he could erase the tightness in her eyes. Cousin Cissy had seemed invincible at Hogwarts, and it terrified him to see her so resigned.

* * *

_Soul shards receptacles_. _Immortality in exchange for the loss of a part of yourself._ _Carved out of the whole through murder. _

Regulus shut the tome in daze. Tom Marvolo Riddle, heir of Slytherin, was dead. He'd killed himself in order to create an immortal monster. Could they possibly coincide, the moment where Lord Voldemort had cursed Slytherin's locket and the moment he'd begun torturing his own followers, his political ambitions cast aside, replaced by a merciless crusade against Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix? Could it be that Abraxas Malfoy _hadn't_ been fooled by Tom Riddle? that he'd simply met the wizard before his reason and restraint had been sacrificed to the darkest of rituals?

Regulus boarded the Hogwarts Express for the last time a few days later, still overwhelmed by his discovery. Impulsively, he bought two galleons' worth of candy, desperate to recapture the excitement of his first trip. An hour later, nauseous, he brought the half-eaten five-pound bag of sweets to a compartment full of Slytherin second years.

"I overestimated myself," he said in way of greeting. "Who wants free sweets?"

His words sparked an wave of cheer. He basked in his newfound popularity.

But neither daily distractions nor the intensity of his NEWTs classes could silence the terrified voice whispering _what if's _to Regulus' mind.

The Dark Lord would find out, if not next week, or next month, then during the Winter holidays. Perhaps Regulus would not be discovered before he'd sat his NEWTs. _But what then? Would Regulus be bound to secrecy? Would he be tortured? How badly? Would he be obliviated, left with only a fraction of himself, like the muggles who'd had all knowledge of magic torn from their minds?_

_What would happen to Kreacher?_ Regulus had told Mother and Father nothing. He couldn't involve them until he found out how to protect them.

_What would the Dark Lord ask of him, to prove himself?_

Whispers of people leaving the Isles began to fill him with envy. Regulus fantasized that he'd wake up in a foreign country, where nobody would know him. But the constant warm pulse of his Dark Mark, like a resting parasite coiled beneath his skin, was quick to remind him he'd be found, no matter how far he went.

He stopped talking to Gladys, desperate to forget her, to make her _nobody_ to him as would be proper for a Death Eater. He couldn't look at her without seeing Bellatrix order a stricken Lord Parkinson to torture his long-time friend, the now fallen-from-grace Marius Bulstrode._ 'You wouldn't want to be confused, as to where your loyalties lie, would you?'_

Occlumency gave Regulus days of respite, and dark arts helped him channel his growing fear into guardian spells. Those often took the form of conjured animals that Regulus would photograph, desperate to distract himself through artistry. But as days turned into weeks, it became harder and harder to stay in denial.

Before he'd known about Horcruxes, Regulus could have fooled himself into thinking the Dark Lord's cruelty was rational or even necessary. That there was a plan. That Regulus wasn't slave to a master consumed by dark arts. But now, there was no escaping the truth. Lord Voldemort was mad and Regulus had condemned himself the day he had refused to let Kreacher take the Dark Lord's secret to his grave.

* * *

A harsh meow had Regulus jump backwards. He hastily leaned against the tower wall next to him, his feet slipping on the tiles.

He'd sneaked on the Hogwarts roof to take pictures, enjoying the silence and the evening light, a silver conjured eagle by his side. That eagle had caught a very upset cat.

_Wait -. _Perhaps it was the tabby's odd stiffness, its unnervingly stern eyes or – _Merlin!_ Regulus vanished the eagle and hastily conjured a thick mat to catch the falling feline.

She landed on her feet and stood up, shifting back to human shape.

Regulus hung his head. "Professor, I never meant to -"

"I saw," Minerva McGonagall said stiffly. "You're forgiven. What are you doing on the roofs?"

"Taking pictures," he admitted, lifting the camera in his left hand. "I... they distract me. Hogwarts is beautiful, I... I've made a book, with all the portraits and ghosts and -" The library held inventory tomes, more detailed and artistic than whatever he'd manage, but still, Regulus was proud of his compilation.

"You look terrified, Mr. Black."

_Yes._ He felt little else than terror these days. The use of fear-based dark arts didn't help.

"Is there anyway I can be of assistance?"

_Ha._ Regulus smiled weakly at his transfigurations professor. McGonagall was Dumbledore's deputy, and most certainly an Order of the Phoenix member. She was a good teacher, hard sometimes, but good. She'd been soft on the Marauders, but they had been _hers_, and it's not like Slughorn had managed to corral Sirius and his gang either. In truth, Regulus had never quite paused to think about Minerva McGonagall the person. Not that she'd ever seemed interested in knowing _him_.

"It's too late for that, Ma'am." Dumbledore's people were struggling to protect their own, so a Death Eater...

"As long as you're within the Hogwarts' walls -"

"I have family outside." He took a sharp breath, staring at the lake below. It looked so deceptively calm. So peaceful. "Do you believe you can win? Or is fighting a matter of principle?"

"Both." The confidence in the witch's voice had him turn. She looked formidable in her robes. But perhaps it was just a formidable lie.

"Why didn't Dumbledore block owls or lock down the wards so we couldn't leave? Why didn't you shove Veritaserum down our throats? Had the Dark Lord known Hogwarts was out of bounds, he might have left us alone."

"What do you mean?" Once, McGonagall's stern tone would have intimidated him. Now he sneered, tired of everybody's failures. "Mr. Black, has -"

"He'd be alive, Doge. Fenwick wouldn't have been captured. Tortured. At least, not like that."

"Do you mean to say that students -"

"You're truly surprised?" McGonagall looked pale and horrified, but not... no, not _that_ surprised. As if she'd suspected but failed to investigate that particular suspicion. Exhaustion dug deep lines on the witch's face.

Regulus sighed, turning back towards the sunset. It wasn't _McGonagall_ who haunted his nightmares. "Why do _you_ spend time on the roofs, Professor?"

"Hogwarts is beautiful."

A smile drew itself on Regulus' lips. The trees of Forbidden Forest, dark against the golden sky, moved in different directions, as if animated by winds of their own. "It really is."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Black," McGonagall said after a pause. "I wish we'd done things differently."

_So do I. _"You're doing a lot." Whereas Regulus often wondered why he bothered to get out of bed.

"I must. I owe it to this country and I owe to myself. If I fail, I must trust that others will not." She took a sharp breath, and for a second they were not Professor and student but two soldiers. "That monster cannot stop me from getting up and being proud of what I see in the mirror."

Regulus blinked. Something other than fear stirred inside him. A feeling of... injustice. One he'd learned to squash years ago. '_It's not fair'_ was a sentence for babies. But faced with McGonagall's unyielding pride, he suddenly realized that it was also a sentence that spurred you to _fight_.

_It wasn't fair. _He was tired of being terrified. Tired of feeling like he had no choice.

_It wasn't fair. _He wanted to be safe. He wanted to be free.

He wanted the Dark Lord gone.

_The Horcrux had to go._

Light-headed, Regulus smiled weakly. It was insane, he'd fail, he'd pay for it. And yet... He hadn't felt so good in months.

"Thank you, Professor. Would you consent to me taking your picture? As a cat?"

McGonagall's stare made him blush, but her lips were twitching. She transformed, her markings almost invisible as the last of the sun's rays painted the lake beneath them red.

* * *

Regulus didn't wait, too scared to lose his nerve. He'd wasted over a month already.

He asked Professor Slughorn how the strongest debilitating potions could be countered, and if he had experience with debilitating potions that caused abject hopelessness and guilt. A few days later, the Potions Master sold him a thick concoction. '_This lines your mouth, throat and innards, no other potion will touch you. You just have to throw it up afterwards.'_

When a pale Kreacher took him to the cave where Lord Voldemort had hidden his Horcrux, Regulus had to fight back the urge to flee. The place stank of death and the chill clawed at him despite the warming charms on his robes. The boat supposed to take them over the leaden lake was ridiculously fragile. Who would ever find Regulus if he drowned here? Would he rise up, one faceless inferi among hundreds?

_Who had those inferi been? Dead muggles excavated from graveyards? Wizards?_

Regulus clenched his wand harder. "We're doing this," he said through gritted teeth, wincing at the hollow echo of his own voice.

Slughorn's potion felt like swallowing a snake and then pulling it back out. Regulus gagged to tears at first, but in this nightmarish cave, it was the lesser evil. He drunk that abject potion, and he survived. He felt wretched, violent shudders wracking his body, but he was _standing_ He didn't dare contemplate what it would have been without Slughorn's help.

He had it in his hand. The silver locket. Passed through twenty generations of Slytherin descendants. A priceless artifact. Now defiled. Darkness irradiated from it like nothing Regulus had ever seen. A familiar darkness, whose pulse echoed that of his Dark Mark.

The locket whispered to him. _ 'The second son. Untalented, needy, average. You never fooled everyone. You're just smart enough to realize you've been used. Flattered into being an obedient little slave.' _

_'You're going to die. You're going to get them all killed. Kreacher. Mother. Father. Narcissa. It will be your fault. Your little rebellion. Useless.'_

"Kreacher be popping master home as planned?"

Regulus grimaced, struggling to focus on his surroundings and the elf staring at him in concern.

"No," he managed. "If I'm home, he can apparate through the wards using the mark. Take it home and destroy it, Kreacher. Don't tell Mother and Father, it'll put them in danger. If you need time, hide it well, in the house. Keep it inside the wards."

_'... scream. The imperius will make you who you should have been. Perhaps you'll_ _bring his Sirius, the true Black heir -'_

"Enough!" Regulus exclaimed. "Go, Kreacher. Get that thing away from me! Come back to apparate me out."

Alone in the cave, the young man shakily dropped to his knees. Growing hysteria sapped his energy as he realized_ this was it_. He'd done it and now... They wouldn't just chase him down and kill him. They'd strip him of all dignity. They'd make him a puppet. They'd go after his family.

The lake was there, he'd just have to extend his arms and touch it. The water was so cold, if Regulus removed his charms, with the weight of his clothes, surely it would be quick. His magic would be no match for the inferi.

Regulus shook himself out of his morbid fantasy. He couldn't do this Kreacher.

But now the thought had made its way in his mind...

He _wasn't_ condemned to wait until the Dark Lord found him out. He could make it stop. He could make sure it didn't hurt. They wouldn't be able to blame anybody else, because he'd not told _anyone_.

Regulus had come to the cave straight after classes, in his school robes, and with a fake locket in his bag, built using a drawing of the original he'd found in the Hogwarts' library. Impulsively, he ripped a piece of paper from one of his textbooks and began to write.

_To the Dark Lord  
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.  
R.A.B. _

He shoved his quill and inkwell in his bag, breathing deeply and feeling like... like his bloody brother. Reckless and stupid. But he really, _really_, wanted the Dark Lord to know.

Regulus smiled in satisfaction as he slid the fake locket where the real one had been.

"Kreacher," he whispered.

A pop announced the elf's arrival.

"Locket being hidden. Kreacher later be finding better hidings." Kreacher tugged at Regulus' robes, his eyes bright and concerned. "Reggie?"

Regulus couldn't do it. He didn't know how to kill himself efficiently without his magic flaring up and the Dark Lord becoming aware of it. He couldn't ask Kreacher to kill him. He needed... help.

"Take me to Hogsmeade. I need to think."

He had Kreacher pop him on the roof of the three Broomsticks. Chatter rose from the inside. It was 8 PM and even a war didn't stop the regulars from having their meals at the pub.

_But who would help him? Who would defy the Dark Lord._

Sirius abruptly came to mind. Regulus pulled his knees to his chest with a groan. Sirius would think he was a spy. Even if Sirius didn't, if Sirius took him to an Order safe-house and the Dark Lord appeared using Regulus' mark... Regulus shuddered. He never wanted to be a witness to that again.

Perhaps Slughorn : the Potions Master would know which poisons were fast, too fast to allow the Dark Mark to alert Lord Voldemort before Regulus was beyond the point of healing. But Slughorn would never sell Regulus such a lethal poison without asking questions. What if the man told McGonagall, or Dumbledore? What if, simply, his Head of House would worry, and decided to keep a close eye on Regulus? No, Regulus needed someone more ruthless. Someone who would understand.

He couldn't go to Narcissa, no matter how ached to see his cousin. He couldn't, _wouldn't_, put her in danger. And would she even accept, pregnant, and in love with a Death Eater? And she _liked_ him. He could never let Narcissa die, let alone _kill_ her even she asked, so to expect her to-.

Regulus stood up with a shuddering breath. "Kreacher. Could... Can you locate Andromeda? Magically, she should still be a Black."

* * *

Regulus was so stiff he could barely breathe when he and Kreacher popped in front of Andromeda's house. A cottage, cheap-looking but cozy in its way. "Don't eavesdrop," he warned Kreacher. "You don't want anyone to ask you what's being said."

It killed him that Kreacher just nodded trustingly and moved out of earshot, his protruding eyes shining with concern.

The cottage's door opened, and Regulus was shocked to see his cousin... unchanged. Older yes, but he'd expected muggle clothes, muggle jewelry maybe, instead... She could have come like this to have tea at Malfoy manor. She looked like a Black. He'd never questioned _why_ she'd been disowned. But seeing her... This was_ his cousin_, no matter what the tapestry said.

Her wand was out and she looked enough like Bellatrix to send a jolt of fear up Regulus' spine. But Cousin Meda's expression was one he never saw on Bellatrix anymore : a calm frown, one that said _'I'm just taking precautions here'._ Regulus dropped his own wand and kicked it towards the house's wards, his arms open in a peace offering.

Andromeda's eyes flickered from Regulus to Kreacher. "Who's he to you?"

Regulus swallowed. "A better brother than Sirius, and a better Uncle than your father."

Andromeda's frown deepened. "Come in." The wards shimmered, letting him through. Kreacher's ears twitched but Regulus gestured at him to stay outside.

The house's entrance hall and the living room had Regulus smile despite himself. Not only was there _much_ more space than what the cottage's walls suggested, but it was filled with antiques. Magical flames danced in the wood and crystal chandeliers, and it looked like a more friendly, portrait-less version of home. And there were books on every wall, _muggle_ books, although some of those ancient encyclopedias looked like something the Malfoys could have kept in a cabinet hidden from the public eye.

"So this is Black Cottage... It's like Black Manor for Hufflepuffs." Gladys had shown him around the Hufflepuff common room once, it was so cozy it made you want to hug everyone and play chess instead of planning for your future.

Andromeda seemed to almost smile, her cautious stiffness replaced by perplexed curiosity.

"I'm surprised to see you, Regulus." Her eyes never left him. He'd been nine when she'd last set foot in a Black house.

"I'm dead. He's going to kill me. I need... I need you to kill me. If he finds me..."

Andromeda stared. "Sit down," she finally said. "Breathe, Reggie. Explain."

So Regulus did. For the first time he spoke about Bryony and Fenwick and the Meadowes, about the cruciatus and the imperius. He didn't speak of the Horcrux, but he spoke of dark arts, of the mark and the Dark Lord's punishments. Of how things had changed for the worst, for everyone.

"I... He doesn't want a better England. He likes this : the chaos, using awful magic nobody else can cast. Bellatrix's the same. He's... he's insane. He's so powerful dark arts have twisted him but won't kill him. Cousin Bella... she's so cruel now." He put his head in his hands. "They're going to kill me."

"Nobody's going to kill you."

"You don't understand, the mark's made me _his_! He can apparate anywhere I am, regardless of the wards, except Hogwarts or Gringotts." Andromeda stiffened at that and Regulus smiled mirthlessly because, _yes_, he meant _here too_. "I betrayed him. I..." He couldn't tell her. She was his only close family not neck deep in this mess. He had to trust Kreacher to dispose of the locket. "If the Dark Lord catches me, I'll be tortured or worse, Meda. I want to go on my terms. I'm sorry, I just... I have nobody else."

"Show me your mark," Andromeda said after a tense pause.

Her magic was pleasantly cool against his arm. She silently moved her wand, her eyes betraying a hundred thoughts, most unpleasant. "Yes, even if we cut your arm off... It'll take root again. Unless you happen to know a way to get rid of your own magic-"

"You mean like Bella at her wedding?"

"Bella?" Of course she hadn't known.

So Regulus told her, about the blood curse Father had cast and Bella using magic-blocking armbands from Saint Mungo's to become magically a Lestrange during her wedding. Andromeda looked increasingly horrified.

So much Regulus had to smile. _Merlin, he'd not wanted to see it, right? How messed up his family was._ "I bet you don't regret leaving _now_."

Cousin Meda stared, a rueful smile creeping on her lips. "I must've left when you were still too young to be glib. How old are you now?"

"Seventeen and a half." He pretended not to notice her wince. "Why did you never want to talk to Cissy again?"

"Is that what she told you?"

"Yes, she said she'd waited months for you to show up and you never did. She decided it wasn't worth it to miss you as you didn't miss her enough to bother."

Andromeda stood up abruptly, her eyes flashing. She froze when she realized Regulus had flinched, as if expecting to be hexed. "She's married to a Death Eater," she said with schooled calm as she sat back down again. "It complicates things."

Regulus cleared his throat. "How's the muggle?"

"Still a wizard," Andromeda said with a warning glare.

Regulus flushed. "Right. Sorry... I mean. Are you happy with him?"

"With Ted? Yes quite. Nymphadora's in her room, he must have finished her bedtime story by now and found my note on the door."

Regulus' eyes darted towards the closed living-room doors and wondered what exactly Andromeda had written. _Bedtime story. _Kreacher had told him stories, but Father?

"The armbands Bellatrix used during her wedding, where are they?"

"With Amanda Wilkes, she's the healer." Amanda was glazed over. Competent, friendly, but... as if parts of her were missing. Regulus now suspected that a few memory charms too many had been cast.

"You're the one with the house elf," Andromeda said pointedly.

Regulus stiffened. _Using Kreacher - ._ His guilt was overpowered by something he'd thought he didn't deserve anymore : hope. _He might not die._

* * *

It was deep in the night when Kreacher finally apparated back with the armbands. Regulus almost broke into grateful sobs.

"I'm going to modify Kreacher's memory."

"You must let her, that's an order. It's to save me, and I'm so sorry."

"Kreacher happy to be saving Master Reggie."

"But you're going to be miserable."

Kreacher sighed and turned to Andromeda, as if to say, _tell him to quit it_. "Reggie will be coming back. Kreacher will forgive."

"Ted will erase my memories of tonight," Andromeda said, struggling with her businesslike attitude. "Then he'll ask me to do the same to him. There's no recovering memories erased before they're one day old, no matter how powerful or skilled you are. For us to remember you, you'll have to show up physically."

"The Dark Lord -"

"Will think you have committed suicide. I'm going to bind the armbands to you skin, so that they can't be taken off. You'll have to help me, have your magic cooperate."

_Binding._ The metal would melt, leaving burn-like tattoos into his skin. Another mark. The one which may save him. He smiled weakly at his cousin. His parents had made it sound like she'd turned her back on everything that mattered and yet here she was, still a dark witch, still crafting spells.

"Must-"

"Yes, the Dark Mark is in your skin. It can only be countered by similar magic. And I'll have to cut your arm off at the elbow, or the Dark Mark is too powerful either way."

His arm – "I'll be a squib."

Andromeda's eyes were bright. "Ted will find you a flight out of England, Cousin," she whispered.

"_Sectumsempra_," he managed, hating how his voice caught. "It's the best severing charm, to cut off as much of the darkness as possible. Just... focus it, alright? It'll lacerate me everywhere if you don't." It wasn't the most subtle spell Severus had crafted. "Once the cut's done, _Vulnera Sanentur _will stitch the wounds together."

When Andromeda flicked her wand, Regulus flinched, but she'd only conjured a squirrel. The teenager's heartbeat slowed as Andromeda practiced the spells. Soon, the squirrels barely protested as their arms were sliced off and the stumps healed. Andromeda was pale, but her casting hand didn't shake. She nodded, and Regulus slid both armbands on and outstretched his arms, letting them rest on the woman's lap.

Hoping it would be the last time he would be able to summon such fear, Regulus thought of the Dark Lord. Of the threat of torture and death. His and others', memories and nightmares. The armbands, cold against his skin, began to vibrate. His skin itched, his magic stirred, summoned by his emotions and by the artifact invading him. _Let it, welcome it, _Regulus urged, clenching his jaw shut as it burned. Like the Dark Mark had burned. Only the dark mark had been alive, a sliver of another wizard's magic. The enchanted armbands carried their magic in runes and runes adapted to any substrate. Andromeda's magic and his mixed, absorbing them, printing them on his skin. Regulus could barely breathe. He gasped in panic when his Dark Mark stirred, the black snake pulsing like a bulging vein.

"It's noticing something's wrong! Get rid of it! Get -"

"Look away."

Regulus shut his eyes. The sudden lightness on his right side told him she'd done it. Magical numbing spared him any pain. He didn't dare look down, so he looked at Andromeda instead. He wondered if that tense calm was occlumency, or like Narcissa, a mask crafted in childhood and polished in adulthood. With a deep breath, he grasped his wand with his left hand.

_Lumos, _he thought vehemently. Nothing. Not even a spark. And the wand itself... it was like holding onto dead wood. _A squib._ Regulus swallowed, anguish constricting his throat. _Was it truly better than death?_

"You being gone, Master Reggie. Kreacher be feeling no bond. Its like you being dead." The elf smiled weakly. "Yous being saved."

Regulus looked down then. _A stump._ His arm just... ended. The skin was barely red, the wound cleanly knitted shut at the elbow. It moved painlessly. His head spun, as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was seeing.

With his good hand, he squeezed the elf's bony shoulder, willing a smile on his face. Kreacher wouldn't see him weep.

"You won't forget what I told you, won't you?"

Kreacher cocked his head thoughtfully. "Old orders still being loud. Perhaps that being because Master not being dead."

"And if I order you now to never reveal that you can still hear my orders?"

Kreacher slowly shook his head, ears drooping. "No bond. But Kreacher won't be betraying Master. Masters' orders will be remembered even if Kreacher not having memory of them being said. Bond being more powerful than any spells."

_'You must not mention me in the days to come. Until others bring me up, act like I'm at Hogwarts and everything is fine. Don't think to check our bond.' _Those had been Regulus' last orders.

Watching Kreacher be stunned and obliviated was harder than staring at his stump. The elf would be left on the roof of the Three Broomsticks with a note in Regulus' hand saying_ 'Sorry, you were needed for task. Go home. No telling.' _His last memory would be of transporting Regulus to that very roof.

* * *

"With your arm on hand, it'll be easy to stage a suicide."

Regulus hugged Andromeda. She stood stiff, upset. She struggled to hug him back, and when she did, it was obvious she wanted him to _let go_. And soon she'd forget he'd even been here.

"I'm sorry, I had no one else. Sirius-"

Andromeda shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. "You're so young, you... you'll bounce back."

Before he cast a memory charm on his wife, it was Edward Tonks who pulled him into an embrace, to Regulus' shock.

"You didn't choose to be born a Black. You're barely an adult and yet you found it in you to fight back -"

"For all the good it -"

"Doesn't matter. Screw You Know Who. Scariest bastard in the whole world, and you screwed him. That strength you found to look at death in the eye, don't forget it's there. You're going to need it. And one day you'll realize all this crap was just a small part of your life." His smile was grim, as if he knew what Regulus had done. There was no forgiveness there, but there was something close enough to respect. "If you're struggling to live with yourself, try giving back."

Regulus stared, struck speechless by this mud- _wizard _who somehow could look at him like he was family when Regulus had-

"Always the sweet talker," Andromeda said, her hand grasping her husband's tightly and Regulus saw it then, why she hadn't cared to be disowned. She had no name and yet she stood stronger than Narcissa did these days.

"I'm sorry," Regulus finally managed. "I'm sorry about muggleborns. It's not fair."

"No. It's not. I'm happy to hear you say that, Cousin." Tonks stuck out his hand, the muggle way.

Regulus clasped it tightly, with the only hand he had left.

* * *

When ten days later, at the end of October, Death Eaters found the mangled remains of Regulus' body in the Forbidden Forest, destroyed and decomposed (and partially eaten) beyond recognition save for the marked forearm and hand, Voldemort modified their memories to make them believe it had been an execution. There was something unnerving about a suicide, and even more one that had been effectively kept from him so long. Regulus' Dark Mark should have alerted him the minute the wizard had ingested that blasting potion (or whatever it was that he had taken). Instead, Voldemort had become aware there was a problem when an acromentula had started nibbling on the severed arm.

Voldemort blamed the Founders' spell-crafting : the body had been found just outside the limit of Hogwarts' apparition wards. The castle muffled the Mark, making anything other than summons difficult. Even simple summons required a greater expense in energy than was required anywhere else.

"A waste," he told Bella, upset. He'd given that weak fool everything : opportunities to rise through the ranks, the focus on politics he so craved... _Suicide_. "It's a wonder such a disappointing family produced someone like you."

"Shall we talk about _your_ family?"

A wall of fire blasted the insolent witch. And yet there she was, a second later, inches from him, shielded and grinning wickedly, as conjured ropes bound his wand arm.

Not that Voldemort couldn't switch hands, dispel her conjuration and curse her in an instant. He preferred to grasp her face and pull her even nearer. Her skin was soft, and her darkness sang loud these days, beautiful. Everything he'd hoped the muted hum of her teenage years would grow into. She made directing this bowing and scraping lot much more entertaining.

He never connected the dots to Kreacher. When, years later, Lucius would tell him _the Black elf_ had come to Narcissa to tell them Potter was going after his godfather, Voldemort failed to recognize that this was the same creature that should have died in the cave, seventeen years before. Not that Voldemort had ever spent much time thinking about house-elves. Those ugly, servile things with their insufferable squeaky voices and their grating lack of grammar.

* * *

Sirius would not learn that his brother had died for weeks. When he did, he felt gutted. Hollow. Regulus hadn't even graduated. When Sirius learned Regulus had been a marked Death Eater for _years, _right under Dumbledore's nose... he didn't know _what_ he felt. There was too much happening with the war to stop and think. In Azkaban, there was more than enough time, but the Dementors were quick to remind him why he'd hated Regulus, and as the years passed, he forgot why he should have cared.

* * *

On December 1st 1979, a month after his son's body had been found, an ashen Orion Black changed his will, naming Sirius his heir once more. Orion had wanted to return his family to greatness and, for a time, surrounded by his sons and nieces, powerful and smart (except Regulus, but Regulus hadn't been _incompetent_, and he hadn't been difficult. People like that were needed to keep families together), he'd felt proud. Then they'd left him, one after the other. He was Lord of nothing. The Black family was ashes, their family vaults depleted.

When he had orchestrated the 'retirement' from public life of Father and Aunt Lycoris, Orion had been convinced he was saving House Black. His own childhood had been one lavish party after the other, a parade of delicacies and finery. His parents had been decadent, disinterested in magic or politics, happy to offer their support to the highest bidder. But as the years had gone by, Black support came to mean little. Orion had despised them. When he graduated Hogwarts, he decided he would not wait for his father to die to become Lord Black. Uncle Regulus, Father's younger brother, had been Orion's staunchest ally. Orion found another ally in his second cousin : Cassiopeia, who'd been content to rise on her own but could see the benefits to be reaped from a powerful Lord Black.

Orion's parents had never made use of the blackmail they had on other families because their hands had been just as dirty, but Orion didn't mind his parents taking the fall. On the contrary. As great houses grew dirtied by scandal, House Black rose once more. Nevertheless, the price had been higher than Orion had expected. Uncle Regulus' death in 1959 remained his greatest failure. Oh, their enemies had paid, and they had only pushed so far because Orion had been _successful. _But none of that would bring Regulus back. Orion's sister, Lucretia, now Prewett, had never forgiven him for getting their favorite uncle killed in the name of _politics_.

As Regulus, Orion's Regulus, grew, Orion feared he'd given his son a name that would condemn the boy to fall short. He couldn't look at Regulus and not see everything he _should_ have been. But then Regulus had come to him, with the Dark Lord's favor, confident House Black would rise, and eager for Orion's approval and guidance. Orion had stopped doubting. He'd allowed himself to love his son.

Now House Black had buried another Regulus. _And, this time, what did Orion have to show for it?_

Kreacher had revealed that Regulus had not come home because he did not want to let the Dark Lord into their home. Even now, Orion couldn't forget the rage in the elf's voice. _Lord Voldemort killed my son. _That fiend was killing all the great houses, forcing them to bow, to open their coffers and manors.

Orion didn't dare think _what_ Sirius would do with the house of his ancestors, but it wasn't _Sirius_ who had ordered Regulus killed. There was an honored Black tradition in making compromises with one's enemy's enemies. And at least that headstrong Gryffindor was Orion's blood.

His affairs in order, Orion coated a blade with manticore venom and sliced his wrist. He hadn't told his wife. Walburga had raged at him over Sirius, saying they might as well name Andromeda his heir, since the witch had a magical child already, securing the line, and didn't bow to _Albus Dumbledore._ It was fitting, that their last conversation would be an argument over Sirius.

_Why stay only to have the Dark Lord come with yet more demands? Why stay when he was powerless to avenge his son? _

Walburga, widowed and grief-stricken (over Regulus. Over her wretched husband, she felt mostly fury and betrayal), locked herself in her home. Kreacher brought food stolen from muggle storage zones. On good days, she watched the photo albums Regulus had put together, and she sometimes read the Prophet. Once, she might have dabbled in spells but ever since Regulus had died, dark arts filled her with irrational terror. She had neither the patience nor the scholarly fiber to distract herself with light magic. On bad days she drank and raged and blasted the house apart, leaving Kreacher to mend things.

The elf cowered often, but he couldn't blame his poor Mistress. Master Reggie had been the best of the Blacks. When Kreacher had no orders, he tried to find ways to destroy the awful locket.

* * *

At the beginning of the same year, eight months before Regulus stole the Horcrux, Cygnus and Druella Black's manor had become a breeding ground for dementors. The couple lived barricaded in a couple of rooms, but even those could not be kept free of the nightmarish mist those creatures exuded. They had begged Bellatrix to convince the Dark Lord to take the creatures elsewhere, _anywhere_ else, but they'd come to suspect that their unmanageable middle daughter was the reason Azkaban's monsters now resided in Westham.

In the summer of 1981, Druella broke. In a moment of madness, the witch cast fiendfyre to get the awful creatures out of her house. Cygnus survived, Druella did not. The century-old wards and a cackling Bellatrix suffocated the dark inferno before it could leap to muggle dwellings, but there was nothing left of the minor Black manor except charred ground and a few burned walls.

Cygnus fled to Grimmauld place. He forced Walburga to fix up the house and stop moping. They raged about their children (except poor Regulus) and made plans for the future. It was an almost companionable half-year before they remembered that they couldn't stand each other. The Dark Lord was dead, this _Boy-Who-Lived_ was Britain's new hero, and with the risk of death or torture gone, Walburga had no qualms pushing Cygnus to appeal to his youngest. Surely, Narcissa would let him live in Malfoy Manor. The place had a ridiculous amount of guest-rooms.

Whatever Narcissa told her father must have been more violent than a simple _no, _because Walburga found herself once more stuck with him, and this time, he sulked for _weeks_.

When Cygnus, humiliated and restless, emptied his Gringott's vault and left for the Americas, Walburga was annoyed to find herself missing him. Of course _she_ had refused to leave. They were _Blacks_, and she would never abandon their ancestral home. Cygnus ended up swindling muggles in Brazil, living with wizards that cared little for anything except for money. To think Cygnus had once sneered at Alphard..._ How far they had fallen._

Walburga decided in late 1982 that it was time to get Sirius back. Two years with dementors had no doubt set that disgrace straight. She raised a huge fuss, arguing he _must_ have been imperioed into betraying the Potters, because, come on, he'd left _his bloody family _to play house with those people. But that sly muggle-lover Dumbledore blocked her at every turn. Unfortunately, it was hard to argue that the thirteen muggles and Pettigrew had been gruesomely killed _after_ the Dark Lord had died.

Narcissa was no help, the disloyal bint. After she was denied visits to Azkaban, she claimed she had done all she could. That she had to look out for _Draco's_ interests. Of course_ Lucius Malfoy _pranced around as if nothing had happened. Walburga would have called upon Aunt Cassiopeia, had the witch not vanished in some remote African country the second the Dark Lord had fallen.

After the Dark Lord's death, Walburga's social circle had become embittered dark-aligned purebloods who had not been close enough to the Dark Lord to risk Azkaban, but close enough to lose most of everything else. But Walburga could not stand those who mourned the late Dark Lord. She spent two months in Azkaban for blasting Mildred Avery's living-room to ash. When she came home, Regulus' face, his death, was one of her clearest memories. They hadn't even let her see Sirius, those jeering Aurors so bloody smug to see her locked up.

Walburga locked the house and began selling her jewelry. The grandest pieces weren't the heirlooms, most of those had anyway been sold, stolen or destroyed, often by jealous Blacks, but those Alphard had gifted her. Alphard had made her a lot of gifts, throwing his money around as if it justified the loss of dignity, the scandal. Still, she'd been fond of the scoundrel as much as he infuriated her. _Besides, who didn't like jewelry? _With the money, she bought the kind of potions that Alphard had once sold. Her past stopped mattering then. Soon, Cygnus, disgusted, stopped calling.

Realizing there was little left for her in the world, Walburga had her portrait painted. She spared no expense and secured a talented artist. As was traditional, she was given a magical paste to rub her hands in, one that would capture her magic, a part of her essence. It was then mixed with the paints. Only, these days, Walburga without drugs was only rage and hate and grief. The once-attractive witch laughed at the result when she saw it, and even harder when the discomfited painter apologized, convinced something must have gone wrong._ Yes, this screeching harpy was her, wasn't it?_

Her body, wrecked by substances, gave out a few years later.

At Grimmauld place, only Walburga's portrait and Kreacher remained. Dark thoughts sometimes filled the elf's mind, but he knew he had to go on. For Master Reggie. It was odd: orders were supposed to vanish when the master was dead. The bond was gone: there was no Reggie Kreacher could pop to. And yet Reggie's orders still rang loud. Perhaps that was what happened, when one loved a master.

So the grieving house-elf stayed, loneliness giving way to embittered mutters, failure filling him with a rage he could not express. The Horcrux, in a drawer locked by Kreacher's strongest wards, slumbered.

* * *

A year after the end of the second, and last, fall of Voldemort, Kreacher's ears twitched. Someone was calling him.

* * *

**There we are folks, the end of the first war, and a twist I had planned since the beginning. And hey, it's canon plausible. You know what they say, as long as there's no body...**

**Next up : an interlude of sorts, centered around Sirius and Bellatrix's time in Azkaban. **


	22. S: Azkaban

**Not a happy chapter (because dementors. A few other things too, but mostly dementors). Don't read this if you came here for a pick-me-up. **

* * *

They'd told him to enjoy Halloween and bring back a crate of treacle scones. He'd glamoured his robes into a ghoul costume, full head-mask and all, and gone to mingle with a group of guising adolescents. He showed off on his shiny motorcycle and Lily had taught him the traditional muggle songs well enough that he didn't look too much the fool.

It was fun. Until the silver bracelet on his arm began to shine._ Prongs was in trouble._

Sirius apparated in midair, a few dozen yards away from Godric's Hollow. The enchanted motorcycle roared as he crushed the throttle.

He knew the moment he saw no light coming from the house.

There were screams. Harry's screams. He found Lily and James in pieces. The killing curse was clean, but the explosion at Godric's Hollow had added a new layer to this nightmare.

When Sirius had been sixteen, he had promised Moony. He had promised Prongs. He had promised himself. No more Dark Arts. But right now he couldn't, he just _couldn't_, do it with Light magic. He didn't know the spells to make a torn face what he remembered. To make a body whole when you couldn't even find the pieces. He couldn't leave them like that. Magic fueled by grief and horror stitched his best friends back together, until their bodies were whole and dignified once more.

And dead.

Sirius took a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumped, his knees shaking. _How could this have happened? How -_

Harry whimpered in Sirius' arms. The baby had settled, exhausted, but Sirius' grip was too tight. Sirius shifted, tears spilling from his eyes. "Prongslet, I'm so sorry." He smiled weakly. "You and your parents took down the baddest wizard of all time, you know that? You -" His voice broke. _What did it matter, when they were dead?_

When Hagrid asked him for Harry, Sirius protested but he was too stunned. Too hurt. A part of him was grateful to hand over the baby. He didn't know what to do. He was scared he'd hurt Harry.

Wherever he turned, the sight of the gutted house burned him like a cruciatus. Prongs, Lily, Harry, they'd been home. There was nothing left.

_Prongs. Lily. Why? Why you?_

_Wormtail. How could you have?_

Sudden rage drowned out the pain. Years of war had taught Sirius to _move_, no matter what. Those who stayed still too long died. Those who thought too hard, died. Rage kept him upright. Rage gave him the strength to turn away and to put one foot in front of the other.

_He had to find Peter, to kill him. _The Fidelius Charm protected the Keeper from the imperius, from legilimency : the secret had to be freely given. Sirius remembered, the cruciatus' unending agony, his mind breaking into pieces and yet this, the Secret, a tiny island of calm.

In the street, painted with blood and body parts, Sirius laughed hysterically, drunk with rage, horror and despair, as the aurors arrived.

Their bumbling Wormtail, Tag-along Peter, had transfigured the muggle's watches and belts in gunpowder, and set them aflame. Cunning, ruthless. Wormtail wasn't _smart_, not like that. He'd learned well from his master.

"It's the rat. He's -" The silencing charm hit him at the same time as a body-binding curse.

His head spun as the aurors roughly grabbed him. _How? How could you, Wormtail?_

_Prongs, mate. I'm so sorry Prongs._

* * *

The cell was made of gray stone. Ten feet by ten.

On the floor rested a mattress, dry, self-cleaning, comfortable. The soft bedcovers adapted to outside temperature and were also self-cleaning. They became as rigid and heavy as stone if one tried to use them for anything but sleeping. There was a chair, a water tub that refilled when asked. A radio was stuck to one of the walls, playing various music stations. Sirius could choose and set the volume. The ceiling's light was also his to command.

Food would appear next to the chair, on a platter. It was bland and healthy. It didn't leave him full, it didn't leave him hungry. He left _'I'm innocent'_ in crumbs. It vanished and, hours later, a new platter, the same as the day before, appeared.

Physically, he wasn't uncomfortable, only, day after day, nothing happened.

_Would Azkaban be this ? Perpetual silence ? Until when ? When was his trial to be? _

There no life, not even a bug. He screamed himself hoarse hoping someone, anyone, would hear. He was desperate for books, parchment, for anyone to talk to.

_Had they forgotten him here ?_

On the twentieth day, Sirius' stomach cramped. He retched, violently, and belatedly realized his meal had been poisoned. Sudden weakness had him on his knees. Fever blurred his vision as he crouched in a fetal positon. When he heard a voice, he barely had the strength to turn his head.

"Surprise, maggot!" A man's voice, the first voice Sirius had heard since his arrested. "_They_'re back. You lot let them breed, and now they're hungry. And we made sure to tell them they're free to _feast_ in the Death Eater wing."

_They. Dementors._

Cloaked abominations, not undead, not quite living, attacking in swarms. Sirius remembered Orlando Vance's dead eyes, the macabre slow dance of a body without a soul. They'd had to kill him, a blast to his spine, or watch him starve, everything that had been him already gone. He remembered the shattered windows and the thin sheet of ice covering, floors, walls and furniture, even the dinner left half eaten. Emmeline, cradling the lifeless small boy she'd thought would be safe at his grandparents'.

_No. Please, no. _"Destroy them," Sirius rasped. "Why don't you destroy them!"

"What, and risk killing ourselves with fiendfyre like your dark twat of an aunt? Nah. Ministry preferred to send them back here, to keep you company. Monsters aught to get along, no?"

Limbs shaking, Sirius tried to rise. He gasped for breath, struggling to keep his eyes open. The guard's vengeful laughter echoed in the corridor.

A few hours later, the poison had mostly left his body. He suddenly shivered. Mist began to form as he exhaled.

* * *

_Sirius runs. He finds James first. Half of James. The kitchen collapsed on his leg. Half his face is glass shards. Lily's hair, her beautiful red hair, were almost all burned away in the blast. He fixes them._

Sirius had told them to switch. To switch _for Peter._

_His fault. This was all his fault._

_Pain. So much pain. Black figures in silver masks. _Avery, Rosier. _Laughter and taunts._

_"We won't get anything out of him. Let's just play with him until he dies. Then we'll leave the body for Dumbles to find."_

_"Or maybe we find him a friend. Hadn't you tracked down the McKinnons, Rosier?"_

Sirius roared in his cell, swiping madly at the Dementor. His fist slammed against the bars. He barely felt the blossoming bruise as the out-of-reach creature trapped him in one of his worst nightmares.

_Her. Silencing the laughter. Chasing the masked monsters away. Dragging him where they'd be alone._

_"It's not working is it? Useless having you here." _

_He allows himself to think for a second he's... not saved, but protected. But Cousin Bella cocks her head and jabs her wand at him. "Crucio!" It burns, tears and stabs. It's different from the other Death Eaters' torture : more acute, and it doesn't _crush_. He can breathe. He can scream. He screams._

Sirius screamed. The Dementors feasted.

_"Legilimens !"_

_Bellatrix sighs after a few seconds. She giggles. "Yes, useless. The secret dies with the secret Keeper. Has to be willingly shared... Cousin... why? Why give everything up just to be put on another leash? Look where it got you."_

_"_They rescued me! They rescued me!" Sirius whimpered. But the Dementors never let _those_ memories surface. Prongs would appear, dead and torn apart, before Sirius could manage to recall the feel of Minerva's fur against his bruised neck, the tug of the portkey that had saved his life.

* * *

Sirius gasped in pain as his ribs cracked. The stone floor was cold against his cheek, his torn robes filthy with sweat and now blood.

He tried to move as the kicks came, again and again.

"Listen to that swine squeal."

Sirius scoffed. It came out as a gurgle of drool and blood. "Where were _you_ brave warriors during the war?"

He cried out when the guard stomped on his knee.

"Not so fun when _you're_ the one at the receiving end, eh, Death Eater?"

He'd tried claiming his innocence, he'd tried begging, he'd tried taking it. Now he snapped back because the pain would be the same but at least he felt like he was fighting. Sometimes, his magic flared, but most of the time, it stayed dormant, stirring only to heal the worst of his wounds. He'd never practiced wandless casting beyond summoning his own wand. He'd never grown skilled enough in Dark Arts to let his feelings command his magic (and his magic command his feelings, _no, he didn't regret that particular choice_). He couldn't muster enough righteousness to wandlessly fight back.

_He'd killed Prongs. He'd killed James and Lily. _

Something warm trickled on his bruised shoulders. Something... Between shuddering gasps, Sirius realized the second guard was _pissing_ on him.

Dead-brained knuckle-heads were assigned to Azkaban. The pay was better than anything else they could hope for, and these days, nobody cared when the wards monitoring the prisoners' physical health signaled a problem in what had become 'Death Eater corridor'.

The two men laughed as they left, leaving Sirius in agony and with a sense of dread. Because when the guards left, the dementors returned.

* * *

_Regulus smiles. Regulus looks at him hopefully, asking to play. _

_Regulus is dead._

_Regulus and Sirius chase each other around, laughing. Regulus hangs to Sirius' every word, eager to please._

Happy memories, turned into blades. Into mirrors of his worst shortcomings. But happy memories faded.

_Regulus turns away, at six, at eight, at ten, when Sirius snaps at him. When Regulus is twelve, it's harder to see the hurt on his face. The bright-eyed hope is gone. _

It was Sirius' fault._ It's all Sirius' fault._

But Regulus' ghost doesn't survive long in Azkaban. As the happy memories dissolve, as Sirius forgets why he has failed his little brother, there are worse, _much_ worse, nightmares.

_Sirius can't breathe. His hands, a child's hands, claw at his face. There's no mouth. Mother's killing him. Killing him like he killed Mr. Allen. Regulus cracks the door to his room open and stares, guilt written all over his childish face. __Sirius hates Regulus then._

This memory stayed.

* * *

During storms, Sirius could hear the waves crashing against Azkaban's thick stone walls. Multiple cracks let in the wind but no sunlight entered his cell. Days and nights blurred. When the wind turned cold and biting, he realized it had been more than a year.

Sirius groaned as pushed himself off the floor. _Eighty-eight, Eighty-nine, Ninety._ His muscles burned as he inflicted more push-ups than was reasonable on his exhausted body.

Few were the hours Sirius was not trapped in nightmares, and when respite came he felt the desperate need to feel his body, to anchor himself in the present. Perhaps there were better ways than brutal exercise, but it cleared his mind.

The wind turned cool, then warm, then cold again. _Years_. Sirius blinked unseeingly at the stone walls as it sunk in that he was beginning to count his time in here in _years_.

The dementors suddenly stopped coming so often. The guards were nowhere to be seen. The food was once more the same as the early days' fare. No more poisons or rotten meat. Nothing missing.

Sirius let himself believe things _did_ have changed. _After all, they'd won, hadn't they? They'd fought for a better world. Maybe Dumbledore hadn't had the time to take a look at Azkaban until now._ He wasn't supposed to never leave his cell, isolated from the world. Even those condemned to life were supposed to be allowed to mingle at set hours, and speak to the occasional visitors. Sirius found himself crying from hope, and hating himself for it.

The new guard, Gibbon, was almost decent. Short, shout, no older than Sirius, and a quiet fellow. He would lend Sirius the Daily Prophet occasionally.

It had been exactly two years and five months.

"Still no trial for me?" Sirius asked one day. He didn't dare talk of Pettigrew. He'd never been trusting (_no he had been, too trusting, and he'd gotten Prongs killed_). So many Death Eaters had avoided Azkaban. They'd be fools not to have prison guards loyal to them, to keep anyone locked up from revealing anything... sensitive.

Gibbon wordlessly outstretched his arm, his hand almost brushing the bars. Sirius gave the wizard back the newspaper with a sigh.

"Your mum's been asking for a trial," the young auror finally said.

_Bollocks, Dorea's dead_. Sirius struggled to remember her voice, but her face he remembered vividly, ravaged by Dragon Pox the morning they'd found her dead.

Then Sirius realized Gibbon meant Walburga. "She _has_?" Of course, she thought he was a proper Death Eater now. A snort escaped Sirius' mouth. _Oh, Mother, I love you so. _"Well, here's to hope."

Nothing changed. Nobody came.

"Couldn't you get Moody to visit?" Sirius tried one day. "He trained me. I expected him to come shout at me, demand answers."

Gibbon eyed him shrewdly. "You think you can fool Moody?"

Moody had been a stubborn bastard. "Frank Longbottom then. More reasonable fellow."

"Black, the Longbottoms are in Saint Mungo's. Bellatrix Lestrange crucioed the sanity out of them after the Dark Lord's fall."

It hit him like a severing curse. Sirius grasped the bars not to loose his balance. "What? _WHAT_? She -" He'd known cousin Bella shared a corridor with him. They didn't see each other. _He hadn't known -. _Alice. Frank.

Something about Gibbon's expression suddenly chilled Sirius. "You're on _his_ side, aren't you?"

Gibbon smiled thinly. "Those on Dumbledore's side wanted to pass your untimely death as an accident. The Dark Lord's servants still out there are laying low. It's not a good time to call in favors, Black."

Sirius just stared, his dark eyes dead. The one man acting half-decent in here thought he was guilty. They _all_ believed him guilty.

Perhaps Dumbledore had decided Sirius deserved this._ And didn't he?_

_Intentions were cheap. Lily and James were dead. _

* * *

He would become Padfoot. Padfoot remembered the sleek short fur and antlers playfully shoving him aside. He remembered the wolf. The rat. They were family. No, not the rat, not anymore.

With thoughts of the wolf comes guilt. They'd thought Moony had chosen another family, one of wolves. Remus had crossed the Order, warning the werewolves. Moony had been so furious when he'd realized their short-time allies were to be sacrificed for the sake of a few hostages. _'How could you use them as pawns! How are we better than You Know Who!'_ He'd stood up for himself, fed up of being grateful just for being treated like a person. He'd _demanded_. He and Prongs should have been so proud of him. Instead, painfully aware there had to be a traitor in their midst, unnerved to see Moony so uncharacteristically _angry_, they'd let the Order convince them to push him aside. '_A precaution.'_

Padfoot mourned.

Padfoot remembers the little one, waving and gurgling and smelling. So many smells. Grabby fingers had dug into his snout and explored his mouth. Giggles had followed his licks. Prongslet would crawl after him, matching Padfoot's barks with delighted cries that morphed into frustrated protests when Padfoot didn't let himself be caught. So Padfoot would slow and Prongslet, crawling energetically, would stand up as best he could and immediately let himself fall sprawled over Padfoot, grabbing fistfulls of fur.

He remembers _her_, pats and a warm voice (and a sharp voice, telling him off_ 'don't let Harry lick your fangs, it's not hygienic!' ''Please check that Harry doesn't lose his pants when you drag him around in the dirt?'_). Her laughter had rung loud and often as they'd grown to know each other better.

Padfoot shuddered from the cold, his snout under his belly, his eyes shut. The smells dimmed, the sounds blurred, the laughter became muffled. Still, they couldn't hurt Padfoot like they hurt Sirius.

* * *

The years passed.

Sirius remembered Snivellus. He was _glad_ for Snivellus. Petty memories of petty moments where Sirius had proven he hadn't shaken off his Black upbringing. All those memories he wasn't all that proud of : the Marauders' biggest flaws dragged to light by the Dementors' ethereal claws. But in those memories, there are Prongs and Moony (Wormtail isn't worth remembering). From those memories, he could make himself recall happier, more important moments.

Sirius laughed, a barking laugh tinged with madness, at the irony. _Severus Snape, unwitting memory anchor, savior of his Hogwarts years._

Sirius would often speak to himself in his cell, telling himself stories of his own life, hoping he'd remember the words even as images and feelings were sucked away.

* * *

When the dementors didn't focus him, when it was just their mists that lingered, the unpleasant memories surfaced instead of the horrors. His mother's shouts instead of the war. Lily's disappointed gaze because he'd been a right arse, and not Molly Weasley's sobs as she stood before her brothers' graves.

_'Get out. Just get out!'_

_'It's fixed, Lils! You're over-reacting to a cracked bone because you were raised muggle.'_

_'Right. I'm _overreacting_. Had it been his skull and not his shoulder, you can fix a brain?'_

_'I couldn't predict his accidental magic would make this toy broom accelerate like that!'_

_'Huh. Weird. Weren't you raised by very magical wizards, Mr. Black? Not like ignorant muggle me.'_

_James, who'd just stepped in to see what the argument was about, turned to stare at Sirius in outraged disbelief. 'You called her a _what_?' _

Sirius blinked. _Harry_. _How long had it been since -_

He'd... he'd almost forgotten Prongslet.

Horrified, Sirius scrambled backwards until his back pushing against the edge of his cell. _How – how could he have -. But how can he stop this? _How could he prevent the best memories of the war to not be... happy. Harry wasn't there, in those nightmares of James' and Lily's bodies. Harry, alive, had been erased.

_His godson_. _He couldn't forget his bloody godson !_

"Harry!" Sirius bellows, tearing at his tangled, overgrown hair as he screamed his rage. "HARRY!"

Gibbon was years' gone. It's a new face at the end of the corridor. The young woman winced._ That poor Potter kid. Good thing that deranged murdered was locked up._

* * *

_He's at Hogwarts. _

"He's at Hogwarts!" Sirius muttered constantly, to make sure he wouldn't forget.

Twelve years after his first day in Azkaban, Sirius remembered purpose.

He waited until the prison corridors were cold and empty. Padfoot was skinny enough to slink through the bars.

The water was cold, colder than dementors, as he swam to freedom, but for once his mind was empty from nightmares.

It's empty from a lot of other things. Things that should have been there.

Sirius preferred to stay Padfoot. Things were simpler as Padfoot. There weren't so many severed threads, so many questions without answers.

But some things were clear: Sirius was innocent. Wormtail had betrayed Lily and James.

_All this pain, because of that rat._

Sirius was going to kill Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

**1995 – 12, Grimmauld Place.**

"Can you tell me more about you and Dad?"

Sirius swallowed. It's not that he didn't want to, only -

"He was popular, funny. Great at Quidditch." Such hollow words, as if Sirius was repeating hearsay. But Harry's eyes were bright and how could Sirius tell him?_ 'I don't remember. I don't remember why he's my best friend, or even how we became close. I remember Prongs' scent and the fall of his hoofs, I remember the thrill of chasing after him. I remember he was strong when he wrestled we but that I had to be careful with my fangs. He was family and home.'_

Flashes remained. "He transfigured me into a Quaffle once, to smuggle me during practice. Friendly match with Ravenclaw. Should've seen their Keeper's face when she ended up with _me_ in their arms." He wasn't sure it had been Ravenclaw. He remembered laughter, James' maybe. Shocked blue eyes and a girl's muscled arms awkwardly around him as she struggled to balance her broom. "I'd told him I'd give anything for that girl to hug me, see? She was hot." _Complete bollocks._ But it sounded like something they'd have done. _Right?_

_But who cared about lies?_ Harry laughed, eyes shining. That's all that mattered.

"He was the best person I knew, cub. Not perfect, but _my_ perfect, you know? Your friends aren't perfect, but they're yours."

Harry nodded with a smile. "Wouldn't know what do without them."

"Your mother, she was so stubborn, in a good way. Lily, she could've let it get to her, all that was being said, all that was happening to muggleborn. Instead, she fought to make the world she wanted, no matter what."

She'd used Dark Arts. She'd gone behind the Order's back. She'd sang to Harry while Padfoot lounged nearby. Sirius had teased her, of course : Lily Potter was brilliant in a thousand ways but in tune she was not. He'd teased a little too violently, and a little too early after she'd given birth : he'd made her cry, and the wretched stab of guilt _that_ had spurred had saved the memory._ 'My lovely mother had a beautiful singing voice, Lils. I much prefer listening to you.' _She'd hugged him tightly, laughing in between sobs. _'Hormones, you know?'_

The hows, the whys had been lost in Azkaban. But he would have died for them. He would still die for them. He often wished he had died for them.

Sirius slung his arm around Harry, trying to forget how well he remembered _these_ walls. Even with that blasted portrait made silent, Walburga Black's screams echoed wherever he looked. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Sirius' first nightmare.

"We were a family, Prongs, Lily, you and I. We're still a family, Harry." He grinned. "The best family. "

Harry's smile warmed him like few things could.

Sirius wished so desperately he could do _better_. The mirror showed him an old man, but he couldn't wrap his head around it. He'd not felt like a particularly mature 21 year old before Azkaban, and now he still felt like a twenty-something, only with a lot of holes.

But Harry looked up to him (and, bugger, what did such low expectations say about all those who should have cared for Prongslet?)

Asleep, his skinny body hidden under the covers, Harry was James' twin. Awake... James hadn't _needed_ love. Harry... You wouldn't notice if you didn't look of course. Kids learned quickly when it was pointless to ask, and the less they were given, the more they made sure to not betray weakness. In those green eyes, Sirius saw himself, a less angry, more selfless himself. A less confident himself.

_He'd failed them. He'd failed them all._

Sirius desperately wanted to get this right. He was terrified Harry would soon realize that he was only _pretending_ to have a clue. That he was just a shadow of the man Prongs had made godfather.

* * *

When word came that Harry and his friends were in the Department of Mysteries, about to walk into a trap, they told him to stay behind.

But Sirius _couldn't_.

It's the one thing he remembered well, the war. He'd fought them, he'd killed them. Prongs had been by his side. Sirius had guarded him from the worst of curses. He'd been good at it.

He couldn't remember having been much good at anything else.

Prongslet was in danger. Sirius' place was at his side.

"Damn it, Black, you're staying -"

"I'm not your trainee anymore, Mad-Eye!" Sirius snapped. "You let me rot in there. You taught me, you saw me fight, you saw what they did to me, you _knew_ me! And you let me rot!"

Moody blanched. Tonks, Arthur, Remus, they stayed silent. Everybody liked to pretend, that it was all forgiven, all _fine_. And Sirius had forgiven, mostly. He'd had to. You couldn't live choked by hate. He'd had no choice.

But he'd not let them keep him away from Harry. Not this time.

They didn't stop him.

* * *

**Author's note**

Canon doesn't state outright that Sirius had no interaction with other prisoners, and visits are possible since Bartemius Crouch managed to sneak out his son while his wife took Barty Jr's place, but I decided to assume that Death Eaters were kept heavily isolated because Dumbledore and the Ministry were afraid of a break out. Bartemius Crouch Sr. is important enough to break the rules.

My head-canon is that Dementors are too strong for wizards to destroy (sure, the more powerful wizards can hold their own, but Dementors are a couple of hundreds in canon can fight back and most wizards are defenseless against the creatures), so having them guard Azkaban is considered the lesser evil. Perhaps, in the Department of Mysteries, there's a task force trying to find a way to destroy them. Perhaps most wizards and witches think it's fair that criminals should relive their worst memories over and over.

Next chapter will probably span over the same time-period, only from Bellatrix's point of view. Then I plan to reunite what remains of the Black clan after the second war.


	23. B: His Most Loyal Servant

** Paul:** about Lily and Dark Arts in your last review, it's a call to my other HP fics (Lots of Love and Some Dark Magic, and the in-progress Defiant Until the End). A fair amount of what Sirius references too will be covered in those fics as they are much more Marauders and Order-centric.

**Happy reading^^.**

* * *

_Father's magical ropes, burning against her skin, crushing her ribs. _

_Selwyn, grabbing her, telling her magical power meant nothing._

_Cassiopeia, showing her her wishes meant little._

_Uncle Orion, stealing her magic._

As dementors floated just behind the bars to her cell, Bellatrix shivered, trapped in nightmares eager to remind her that she had never been truly free.

_Meda, gone._

_Regulus, weak. Dead._

_Sirius, writhing in pain. Loyal to the enemy. Traitor._

Bellatrix snarled. "TRAITOR!" Her own voice anchored her in reality. "TRAITOR!"

_Dead._

_How! How could they have defeated the Dark Lord !_

_Dead,_ they said. But she'd seen him die before. In minutes, he'd been back on his feet. _Now... how long has it been? Days, weeks?_

"Where are you? Why aren't you back!" The Dark Mark is cool beneath her lips. Once pulsing with familiar magic, _his_ magic, it was silent, the snake and skull, once a vibrant black, were washed out and gray.

_But gone it was not! Soon, he'd rescue her. Yes, soon, she'd be free._

Unnatural cold burned her lungs with every breath.

_'Crucio!' The Longbottoms' screams sing to her soul. 'Crucio!' As magic flows through her, she feels more alive then ever, yet everything feels wrong. The rush doesn't smother the hollowness. 'Crucio!' __He's gone. Lord Voldemort is gone. _

That accursed prophecy. _Half_-prophecy. How useless Snape had been! Played like a pawn by Dumbledore. And blubbering Wormtail, so convinced the secret keeper switch had eluded Dumbledore's notice. _Ha_. They'd foolishly thought the Champion of Light him too _good_ to ruthlessly sacrifice his troops. The two-faced Headmaster had doubtless pretended to weep at the Potters' funeral while congratulating himself at having exchanged two mere lives to get rid of the Dark Lord.

Bitter chuckles echoed against the cell's walls. _Voldemort was_ g_one, but not _dead_. _They would pay. They would _all_ pay.

Her hand slammed against the bars.

"Rod! Rod can you hear me!"

Her husband couldn't be far, yet there was only silence. Silence and cold. And her own nightmares.

* * *

_The Prewett twin, the one with the mocking smile, vanishing in a cloud of white wisps. Behind him, on the ground, Uncle Ladon. His eyes still open, staring lifelessly at her. As if to say 'Look at you winners. I told you war was messy. I told you to end it.' The last time they'd talked, they'd argued. She'd called him weak, indecisive. He'd told her she was power drunk and aimless. Then they'd had drinks. Because they were family. _

_They _had been_ family. _

Screams of fury burst from Bellatrix's lungs. Azkaban was warded, against summons, conjurations and assault to its walls. Even house-elves could not penetrate inside. But Azkaban's runes couldn't ward it from _everything_. Magic bled out of Bellatrix's red-stained hands.

The dementor suddenly screamed.

The nightmare faded.

Bellatrix grinned weakly. They'd come back of course, their hunger was stronger than their aversion to pain. But she had _hurt_ them. Soon, she'd do worse.

"Traitors, you were to fight for _us_." She would forget _nothing_. Those creatures would soon be dust.

When her rage faltered, Bellatrix would punch walls and scratch her bleeding arms and legs to the bone. Pain for power, like Cassiopeia had taught her long ago. After fifteen years of dark arts, a decade apprenticed to the greatest Dark Lord the Isles could remember, there was no need of _accidents_ to push her magic outwards without a wand.

"I'm a witch," she howled. Laughter was agony ever since she'd broken her foot with too-hard kick. "I'm a WITCH!"

Most days were pain. But her exhausted body always knit itself back together.

_She's a witch and they can't take that from her._

* * *

The wardens did not dare come, not after the gruesome death of auror Locke, foolish enough to come taunt her.

But from afar, they could poison her food.

"I'll kill you !" she vowed, on her back on the floor, writhing in pain and her skin erupting in boils. "He's not dead. Look at the mark ! He's alive. He'll come for you, your children, _everything. _You'll pay. YOU'LL PAY !"

They must have heard. And decided it was not worth it.

* * *

Her back against the cool wall, Bellatrix blinked. _Why wasn't she angrier at her sister? _Andromeda's departure burned hot, more vivid than it had been in years. Bellatrix had cursed for less, she had killed for less.

Andromeda had betrayed her, and yet -

She could remember that she had decided to leave Meda alone. That it hadn't been that hard. _But why?_

As she tried to recall, memories from her childhood and teenage years resurfaced, but those she was looking for were faded, slowly melting away like spun sugar under the rain. There had been laughter, but the sound of it was just out of reach. There had been trust and warmth, but she couldn't quite -

Bellatrix blinked again, more rapidly, her breathing quickening.

_Meda was slipping from her grasp._

_No. NO! Andromeda was hers! They couldn't take that from her. She wouldn't let them!_

Meda was a traitor. Meda had betrayed her. It was _personal_. Every good memory, every promise: poisonous, fake, lies. Bellatrix began to lovingly nurse every grudge, every negative thought and feeling she had held for her big sister.

Rage came easy, hate came easy, raising a barrier between Bellatrix's memories and the wraiths torturing every last drop of warmth out of her.

Better hate Andromeda and _remember_, than lose her forever.

With Narcissa, hate was harder to summon than scorn. Her pretty little sister, hiding behind Lucius Malfoy, too proper and squeamish to get her hands dirty. Cissy, ungrateful, blind to her own weakness, who now gazed upon Bellatrix in distaste. Bellatrix would show her. Cissy would agree that she was _right_.

When after fourteen years of captivity, Bellatrix gazed upon Narcissa again, she smiled faintly. _Her sister. This was her sister._ Everything was tatters, everything except _Him_, but Narcissa, Cissy, was _hers _and it mattered. When Narcissa hesitantly smiled, Bellatrix realized she wasn't so cold anymore.

* * *

Unleashed magic couldn't be tamed, it lashed out indiscriminately. Flayed from its protective enchantments, her mattress had been burned to crisp, the small tub fractured, leaking water into the whole cell. Nobody had come to replace any of it.

_How long would Voldemort make her wait?_

On the days without dementors, Bellatrix stared at her ravaged cell through hooded eyes. She'd always been better at destroying than fixing.

Her heart hammered and her limbs shivered as she forced herself into a state of constant rage-fueled panic. In the throes of Dark Arts induced-madness, she dismissed her growing exhaustion.

One day, her body finally gave out.

When she woke up, hours, days, _a week perhaps?_ the furniture was new.

She felt calm. Too calm. _What had they done to her ? _She felt no pain. Bones, scratches, down to the last bruise, everything had healed. _Or been healed._

As the realization hit, Bellatrix could only lie back in detached appraisal.

In calm and comfort, she had no magic.

If she didn't eat or didn't drink, in the hope of purging whatever calming draught they were dosing her with, she would die. Now that she bothered to pay attention to her body, she realized she'd come much too close.

* * *

The draught wasn't powerful enough shield her from dementors, but the nightmares were different. Less visceral and violent. Instead of screams, pain and despair, they left her with questions, with doubts.

_Amanda Wilkes staring at her in horror. 'Obliviate !'_

_Amanda still, saying 'that's enough!' 'Obliviate!'_

Why had it been necessary to obliviate Amanda so often? Weren't they friends?

_Rodolphus huffs, exasperated. "This is such a waste of time! When did it stop being about overturning the Ministry and about us becoming a pack of wolves..."_

_She raises her wand, not in the mood to hear him whine. Not that she's thrilled that chasing down Moody's protege had turned into this fruitless cat-and-mouse game. _

_Rod flinches violently. "Sorry, I'm just impatient..." His voice is uncharacteristically subdued. His eyes on her wand instead of on her._

When had Rod of all people become scared of her?

_Narcissa turns away after an argument, one of many, distaste in her eyes. Narcissa turns away without a word, fear in her eyes. They don't argue anymore. Because they don't talk. Her stare has become a stranger's stare. Her smile a stranger's smile._

Alone. Bellatrix was so terribly _alone_.

_'The attempts keep failing, my Lord. Perhaps we should craft a counter.'_

_'No, the Fidelius is as strong as its keeper. I have a better plan.'_

They'd stopped crafting spells. Sometimes in 1979, or maybe even a little earlier. Why had they stopped?

_A sea of black robes and silver masks, bowing, cowering, spewing excuses. Weaklings, opportunists, fools. Pawns on a chessboard. Magpies attracted to the glint of gold. Scattering when she raised her wand._

When had Bellatrix become a herd dog? Once she'd sought out the powerful, those who could knock her down in a duel. When had she become surrounded by barely-competent bootlickers ?

_'Crucio!'. _Those who said pain didn't leave marks knew nothing. _'Crucio!' The Longbottoms scream. They writhe, they weep. The woman's body twists so violently her ribs crack. There's snot on their robes, shit and blood. The Heirs to Longbottom House, pathetic wrecks._

Wasn't that who she'd respected once? The powerful, those who stood for something. Why had it mattered so much, to destroy them? Why go after them instead of searching for Lord Voldemort? Instead of being stuck in this wretched place she would be with him by now, helping him back to power.

_"Why? Why kill Potter? Prophecies are... And it's _half_ a Prophecy, My Lord. Steal the baby. We'll see if he's anything special."_

_"Dumbledore's afraid I'll kill the Potter whelp. He knows that if I kill him, I'll be invincible."_

_"There was never talk of _invincibility_. Sevvie just told you that he thinks that Dumbledore believes that you want to murder baby Potter. For all we know, the half-blood's a decoy. This is dumb."_

_Bellatrix gasped in shock invisible ropes pushed her down on her knees, constricting the breath out of her lungs. Her eyes misted in agony._

_Her vision barely cleared as he shoved his wand against her neck. "Perhaps you want to take my place, Bella? Perhaps you're tired of not being the most powerful person in the room."_

_Bellatrix had sneered then. "My Lord," she'd said pointedly. "I'll join the servant's ranks and make sure to say only what you want to hear, with a lot of bowing."_

_His eyes were always red and merciless these days. Once she'd been certain he wouldn't ever cast the cruciatus on her. Now she couldn't help feeling relieved when he lowered his wand. "No, you're more useful when you're not afraid to speak your mind."_

_'Useful_.' _It wasn't a disguised apology. His voice held but a shadow of the fondness he had once had for her. 'Useful.'_

When had she become a pet?

Without Dark Arts to cloak her, to drown her, things that had stopped mattering, things she hadn't noticed, began mattering once more.

_He's gone insane, _Bellatrix admitted to herself after months of forced calm. She'd gone a little too far herself. Losing sight of what mattered chasing the thrill of unforgivables.

Bellatrix hummed, detached boredom her default state these days. _Hurry up, Voldemort._

If the Dark Lord had access to his magic, he'd have freed her by now. So he didn't. And if he didn't, then time would heal him from the callousness, the madness, brought along by too much dark arts use.

They would start over. It would be like their early years.

_Hurry up._

* * *

The guards returned. Bellatrix immediately recognized the glint in their eyes : opportunism. She wasn't the only one who knew that the Dark Lord wasn't dead.

She asked to see her husband. Hollow-eyed, emaciated, constantly muttering to himself. She learned it had been a little over three years. With her body on stasis, no cycles, her hair and nails growing at snail's pace, she'd lost all notion of time.

"Bella," Rodolphus whispered, horror in his eyes despite his smile. He pawed at her, grabbing roughly and not letting go, as if scared she'd vanish.

_What's wrong with him? _Rod has always been softer than her, born in comfort, gliding through life. He never to fight like she had,_ but this -_

"'Stan?" he begged.

But the guards would not allow them to visit Rabastan, or even write. It was right there in the rule-book, the permission to let married couples together, but the wards would signal unauthorized visits.

"I don't remember... why did we get married?"

Bellatrix side-eyed him. _Purely happy bliss for him, had that been?_ "Uncle cursed me."

She then smiled faintly, realizing she'd just _felt._ Exasperation. That the sight of her diminished husband made her taste fear, weak, like a memory, but definitely _fear_. It seemed that the potions' effect on her wasn't what it had once been. Too many doses. Her body and magic were growing accustomed to it.

Unfortunately, the little she felt was nothing compared to what she'd need to draw upon her magic.

Rodolphus had questions. Endless questions. Bellatrix could tell a lot of her own life, the nicest of her life, had been eroded, but nothing like _this_.

"How... when did we meet the Dark Lord?"

"At Ladon's. Summer of our fifth year." Cassiopeia's letter that evening remained vivid, and so the rest, while faded, was not forgotten. "Remember Morty? Or the unicorn he conjured? Come on, that was terrifying."

He was forgetting, forgetting _everything_.

"You need to keep dementors away from him," she finally asked the guards, hating how she was close to begging.

"There's more of the creatures than before the war... They can't up the exposure for minor crimes all that much, so it's worse for life-sentences, and especially Death Eaters. But look on the bright side, needing dementors fed is what's saving you from being kissed. People asked for it, guards even. They're still afraid of you."

Bellatrix smiled thinly. _They wouldn't break her._ _Not the dementors. Not anybody._

These days, when dementors would come, Bellatrix sometimes saw her present. Her once good-natured husband, unraveling before her eyes. While true that she wasn't sure anymore _why_ she'd liked him enough to marry him, in this wretched place, he was _company_. He was warmth. And he was becoming a mewling pile of _nothing_.

She'd been forged in unhappiness and bad memories. Take the rest away, she could still stand upright. Take happiness away from Rod, and he crumbled.

They shared a cell years, five maybe, less than eight certainly, before she couldn't stand it anymore. She was sad, upset, and restless because she'd never been meant for a cage. She was furious even, but it was a level-headed fury. Not enough for magic, but still too much to make Rodolphus ... _decaying_ next to her bearable.

After one of the guards had walked Bellatrix back inside her own cell, she handed Bellatrix some chocolate.

Bellatrix sighed contentedly, and a little sad because she knew the taste of the chocolate would be snatched before the week's end.

"You're late," she accused, eyes riveted on her mark once she was alone once more.

* * *

As even more year passed, she forgot enough of Rod to not think much of him as an empty husk in a nearby cell. She stopped caring and soon stopped thinking of Rodolphus at all.

Instead she thought of _him _vividly. Memories who weren't closely linked to nightmares had fallen one by one to dust, unless they were of _him _(well, only after '75, but it was enough, more than everything else she had left).

_"You captured Sirius four days ago, and you kept it from me!"_

_Voldemort meets her gaze with infuriating calm. "With the scene you made when Rosier tried to burn down your sister's house?"_

_"Note how very loyal I was, not killing him." Andromeda was _hers_. Nobody but Bellatrix decided what happened to her family._

_There is a shadow of a smile on the Dark Lord's lips. Stronger was the glint in his eyes, the one daring her to protest. "I've let the lads play, but Black won't give away the secret. He'll be bait."_

_"_My _bait," she warns. "Those... _playing_ truly think cousin Sirius is theirs to play with?"_

_"What can I say... Intelligence is a rare commodity. Just don't kill them." He did not bother to hide his glee at the prospect of witnessing her fury._

_Grateful for the permission to not hold back, she strode to find her cousin. _

"That's not what happened," Bellatrix muttered. The facts seemed accurate, but the feeling? She hadn't been _grateful_. She'd been _annoyed_. The others would pay, but they had just been following orders. _He_ had chosen to keep Sirius' capture a secret. He had known she'd be upset. More and more, he pushed her, acting like he owned her. Letting her have Sirius hadn't been a bloody _favor_.

Her faded Dark Mark stared back at her. Slowly, Bellatrix began to understand what was happening.

Because of the protections Lord Voldemort had woven in her mark, the ones to shield her from any obliviate after the Selwyn's assassination attempt and Flint's treachery, the Dementors couldn't access her memories involving the Dark Lord. But, subtly, those memories were shifting.

"You can't change everything to make you right!" Bellatrix told the snake. "I argue with you, that's what I do. You _say_ you want me to bow, but you don't, not really."

"Stop it," Bellatrix muttered later, as she felt her independence slip through her fingers. "I can't fight you in here."

But the Dark Mark couldn't alter its nature. It couldn't protect the witch's memories of Voldemort without smoothing over everything rebellious about Bellatrix. It was first and foremost an instrument of control.

Bellatrix was increasingly angry, but mostly, she was relieved : as long as the mark's magic worked, then the Dark Lord was alive. She'd make him fix the memories.

Until she forgot they needed fixing.

She was, and as far as she knew had always been, the Dark Lord's most loyal servant.

* * *

At first, when she'd felt her magic stir, she'd not nursed her anger, wanting to make sure that this time, she'd stay in control. She also hadn't wanted to alert the guards, afraid they'd switch the draught's formula and numb her once more.

_Father's magical ropes, burning against her skin, crushing her ribs._

_Selwyn, grabbing her, telling her magical power meant nothing._

_Cassiopeia, showing her her wishes meant little._

_Uncle Orion, stealing her magic. _

She dug her fingers into her palm, hard enough to draw blood, and screamed, fed up with the powerlessness.

* * *

New guards came. The new ones were hard-faced and hateful.

"You must've known how Black escaped!"

"Who?" Had that big-nosed twit really said '_escaped'_? From _Azkaban_?

"Sirius Orion Black, your bastard cousin who betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord!"

Confused, Bellatrix finally recalled there _had_ been a mention of cousin Sirius in the paper after the Dark Lord's fall. She'd not been in a state to pay much attention.

"You will tell us what dark magic-"

Hysterical laughter began bubbling out of Bellatrix's chest. _Sirius. In Azkaban_. _For betraying the Potters._ The guards' dumb expressions only increased her mirth until a stab of pain had her fall to her knees. His wand was pointed straight at her.

"You think you're the only one here who can inflict pain?" Bellatrix screamed as her skin burned, as if surrounded by incandescent coals. "You think you can shit all over the Ministry -"

She suddenly couldn't remember why not using Dark Arts had mattered.

She'd stopped, but she'd never forgotten. If she'd had her wand, perhaps it would have been a cruciatus, but wandless magic could not be so harnessed. It was neither subtle or precise. Unleashed in fury, unleashed to cause pain, it dug itself like hooks in the guard's skin and tore.

Her own pain gone, Bellatrix grinned as blood splattered all over her and the screaming guard's partner. The bint started screaming herself when she realized her healing spells weren't working.

Bellatrix had forgotten how alive magic made her feel. _Why hold back?_ The now unconscious guard's blood splatters became glass shards, slicing into the other auror's skin. With a howl, the woman fell to her knees, clawing at her bleeding eyes. Her head cracked against the wall as an invisible hand shoved her. She stopped moving entirely.

New guards intervened before Bellatrix could finish off the first guard. A stunner threw her against her cell's wall, but not before she'd heard them all scream.

She expected them to come back, to poison her food, to drug her back into calm. None of these things happened. Bellatrix would never find out that the calming draughts had been Narcissa's idea, smuggled by the Malfoys to corrupt guards. Forbidden to visit, Narcissa had hoped non-abusive guards and weaning from dark arts would buy them time until Narcissa figured out a way to get Bellatrix out, or at least _talk_ to her. But after Sirius' escape, the Ministry tightened security, and all was lost.

After the incident with the guards, Bellatrix only saw dementors.

But she was not afraid anymore. All that remained was the Dark Lord and not even those abominations could take that away from her. Once again, Bellatrix made the creatures scream. With the unrestrained used of wandless magic, the most pure form of dark arts, fury became once more Bellatrix's second skin and the madness returned.

Bellatrix laughed maniacally when the first time, she saw a dementors hesitate giving her cell a wide berth. They had other people to torture, people who didn't wandlessly fight back.

* * *

It wasn't long (only a small eternity, perhaps a year) until her Dark Mark stirred.

A forgotten feeling, _joy_, had her smile at her branded arm. She almost didn't dare breathe. She began to laugh, chastising herself for her doubts.

_Finally, he was back!_

She willed her own magic into the mark, like she had done a thousand times to allow the Dark Lord to apparate by her side. She shivered when a familiar pulse, weak but _there_, answered her.

He didn't come, but her bitterness was nothing compared to her elation. Azkaban's wards were too powerful, even for Lord Voldemort, but he was back and he now knew where she was.

She was the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. He would see this and reward her.

He would make all the traitors, all their enemies, pay.

* * *

He came wearing no glamours, paler, more snake-like, than in her memories. His magic sang as loudly as she remembered and she couldn't help grabbing onto his hand, made breathless by his presence.

_Finally. Finally!_

He transfigured her prisoner's robes into a gorgeous black dress and two cobbles of stone into the very pair of heels she could remember having worn the night he'd marked her.

He gave her a wand and Azkaban's guards.

"_Crucio_," Bellatrix whispered, reveling in the feel of her magic properly bound to her will once more.

The delicious pleas gave way to even more delicious screams.

She was home.

* * *

**Author's Note**

In an alternate universe, Bellatrix could possibly have been saved from madness had she been taken from Azkaban in time, and by people who cared about rehabilitating criminals as opposed to torturing them. Perhaps if she'd spent the fifteen years under house arrest at Malfoy Manor, she might have come out a different person.


	24. An Indian Interlude

**Curious to know what Regulus was up to during the 80s and 90s? Now you'll know^^. This is the chapter that feels the least like _Harry Potter_, but it's necessary.**

* * *

Regulus landed in Mumbai on the 24th of October 1979. He had some money (_'twenty pounds to a galleon, a pound and change to a sickle, a hundred rupees to a pound'_) a passport (_'your passport is like your wand. Do not lose it!'_) and a new name : Reginald Gray. His hair had never been so short. The blue jeans, white shirt and burgundy blaser felt like a costume. His luggage, bereft of weightlessness and expansion charms, was packed full with almost nothing and dreadfully heavy. Edward Tonks had given him a thick illustrated book on the history of technology for the flight. A children's book. Simple enough to teach Regulus about a world he'd never been interested in.

He could pretend it was a class assignment. He could pretend he _had_ magic, and just wasn't using it for now. He could pretend his missing half-arm wasn't attracting any attention.

Regulus was greeted at the airport by a man called Andrew Cassidy. Muggleborn. Hogwarts class of '73. The year between Narcissa and Bellatrix; a sixth year when Sirius had begun his first.

"Ted phoned me. Told me you'd have almost nothing and to get you settled." Cassidy's friendly smile was a relief. "Don't worry, I've got you." He led Regulus out of the bustling airport, frowning now. "Ted said you need a new name and a new start because Death Eaters want you dead. What happened to your arm?"

"The D- _You Know Who_. I lost my magic healing myself."

Cassidy stared. "Jesus... You met him personally?"

A mirthless smile curled Regulus' lips. _Yes, many times. I felt so special._ "I saw him cast the cruciatus on his own people. He's insane."

The older wizard seemed at a loss for words. "Tell me about it..." he finally muttered. "You went to Hogwarts? You look vaguely familiar. How old are you?"

Regulus pulled out his passport. "It says here Reginald is eighteen." Sixth months older than he was, something about the age of majority.

Cassidy stared expectantly, his lips tightening at the mistrust radiating from Regulus. "My parents got wiped," Cassidy finally said. "I left then... Stopped fooling myself that being Gryffindor meant fighting. Wizarding India has its own prejudices but no blood obsession."

Regulus nodded, surprised the other would reveal so much so quickly, but there was nothing _he_ wanted to say.

Cassidy sighed when he realized Regulus was content to remain silent. "Alright, welcome to your new life, mate."

"I don't want to be interesting," Regulus finally said. "I would be grateful if you could speak of me as a squib who fled."_ A squib._ Regulus cleared his throat, desperate to not show his despair. "I would prefer you did not speak of me at all. I... I've forgotten a lot. Memory charms. Before I managed to escape and find help. Questions are difficult."

Andrew Cassidy had come as a friend, and here was Regulus using what the man had just shared about his parents like a weapon. But without magic, how else could he protect himself? One slip, one legilimens, and he'd be even more dependent on the goodwill of strangers. Besides what Cassidy didn't know couldn't be used against him. Who knew how far the Dark Lord's reach was?

"There are mind-healers here. We could-"

"Not yet." Regulus had no idea what to do with freely offered concern. His instincts screamed at him to run, to disappear. Not that he even _could_, crippled as he was. "Please. I... I just want to know where I am."

* * *

Andrew lived in the South of India, in a region called Chennai, near a large city called Madras. It was the middle of monsoon season and Regulus felt like he was living an odd dream. Everything was so foreign : the bustling market streets, the long sand beaches, the tall buildings clustered around stunning temples, and, not so far away, slums filled with huts of straw and sheet metal. All of it was flooded but the weather did not discourage crowds. Madras made muggle London seem quiet and orderly.

Andrew chatted easily about his own past. He'd been friendly with Sirius, and that made things both easier and more difficult. Regulus soon realized he couldn't stay. He couldn't stand being a squib among the magical. He swallowed his pride and accepted money, clothes and all too many things, and headed out in muggle Madras clutching the only thing non-magical he was mildly familiar with : a photo-camera.

He was fascinated by the temples and churches. Yule, Samhain, Ostara, Beltane... The old rites were still practiced, life and magic celebrated, but after the Statute, practice had become increasingly political. In the name of traditions, many families, usually those who found the Statute too restrictive, had refused to alter centuries-old dark rituals, and the increasingly numerous Light families, excluded from the celebrations, began to dismiss them as relics of a more violent, less civilized past.

The architecture had caught Regulus' attention, but it was the gatherings, the joy, the feelings of belonging, that had him coming back.

The muggle gurus were happy to tell him a thousand stories. Regulus learned of Brahman and dharma, of atman, karma and moshka. He wondered for the first time about his own quest for truth. He feared that if he died too soon, he wouldn't be reincarnated as anything more glorious than a pet dog. Hopefully a beloved pet dog. But perhaps this was his reincarnation. The universe had taken pity on Regulus and Reginald was his chance to do things differently. His punishment was to be without magic.

The churches were fewer, less grand and less steeped in history. They were also full of Briton muggles, or of children of muggles who'd come from Britain. Grown in a world where strangers were disdained, Regulus was utterly disoriented by the warm welcomes he received.

Unlike the Hindus, the Christians did not consider their path only one among many. They were much more intent on persuading Regulus to believe their stories, to come back. They did not chastise him for his ignorance or lack of faith, rather, Regulus was taken aback by how thrilled Father Jerome had been when Reginald had begun coming regularly. The man's warmth, the lack of probing questions, and the idea that the weight of what Regulus carried could be shared, slowly replaced the fear that had clung to him so long by hope. Redemption. _Could it truly be possible? _Faith was something entirely foreign to him, but the promise of an end to his guilt, confusion, and loneliness, made him want, _need_, to believe.

Soon, Reginald was asked to participate to Church life. Taking photographs, printing posters. He watched small children on Sunday mornings, helping them color and cut out pictures while their parents and older siblings attended mass. It was all foreign to him, but for the first time in much too long he felt useful, and valued. It slowly stopped mattering so much, that these were muggles.

"You seem restless, Reginald," Father Jerome told him one day. "I've always known the Lord sent you to us for a reason, and today that reason may have become clear. Help is needed in the refuge. You would be an immense asset. And I don't doubt that doing good work will help ease that shadow on your soul."

And so Reginald went to offer his time at Chennai Grace Refuge, an charity outside of Madras that, mainly, helped abandoned children. It was a cluster of sturdy building two-story high, set-up in a U shape and surrounded by barbed wire and watchful dogs. Under the windows, protected from outside gazes, grassy grounds served as a playground and place for crafts. The refuge was home to twenty to thirty children, a handful of heavily-pregnant girls, and the occasional eloping couple asking for sanctuary for a few nights. The charity had been built by Christians, but while Brother Allen was the official leader, nothing happened without the agreement of Jayanti and Sanjana, two middle-aged Hindu women with loud voices, boundless energy and more love to give others' children than Reginald had seen most parents give their own.

After a trial of three months as a volunteer, where he'd given English lessons and mended clothes, organized play and listened quietly to nervous young mothers, and gone to bed absolutely exhausted, he decided he wanted to be part of this. The salary was a pittance, but he was given food and board, a tiny but air-conditioned room on the premises. Most importantly, he was needed. Behind the laughing dark-eyes and childish innocence, there was a seriousness to those muggle children, a sadness. Maybe he could make a difference.

Andrew Cassidy left him a phone number for emergencies. The wizard was no fool: Reginald Gray's speech, his manners, his ignorance of all things non-magical, some of the opinions he'd inadvertently let slip... it all suggested old-school pureblood. And so it amused Andrew to see Reginald take such a path. That said, he meant it with all his heart when he wished Reginald luck.

* * *

Reginald stopped thinking _muggle_ and started thinking _people_. Some things took longer than others to get used to. The humid heat, the filth, the sight of hungry people, dead teeth, infected wounds, cripples... all those things so easily fixed with magic. A thousand indignities and discomforts now plagued his days (the bloody _insects_). Arranged marriages and castes were a hot topic among the white staff and volunteers, but those did not shock Reginald. Most of the Indian marriages looked at least as amiable as his parents' had been, and castes weren't all that different than blood purity. Donna Walker's outrage when she heard stories of overbearing parents and in-laws made Reginald snicker. _If only she knew. _

What baffled him were the obsession with light skin, and the roles of men and women. Oh, he'd grown up knowing that muggle men were beasts with the women, but he'd never paused to wonder _why_. A year in Madras made it clear muggle men weren't _beasts_, but that things were very, _very_ different than at home. He'd never realized muggles couldn't control their fertility, that pregnancy was dangerous and young children terribly fragile. He'd not paused to consider that, without magic, women were significantly weaker than men. And the rest... well society had evolved to amplify the differences. Sometimes tragically so. Over three quarters of abandoned children in the foundation were girls, healthy girls. The few boys left on their doorstep were all disabled.

Donna Walker was headstrong and outspoken (which self-labeled 'humanitarian hippy' left their country at 22 to fly half-way over the world to volunteer in an orphanage wasn't ?) but even she spoke to him with a subtext that Reginald often failed to grasp. And the subtext he got from the others about spending time with a single woman his age... _That_ he grasped more quickly, mostly because the older women soon stopped being subtle with him.

Hindus and Christian agreed on one point : a good man was expected to stay celibate until marriage. Donna had opinions about that. Very modern and scandalous ones, from the rest of the staff's reactions.

And so Reginald found himself in the utterly ridiculous position of refusing a willing woman he liked because he was afraid he'd blow up his new life by failing to understand the social ramifications of sex. He'd also never had so many people tell him they were proud of him because he'd not slept with a woman. His no-big-deal-it's-fun first time (well, second, the first had been a hilarious failure after which he and Medea had amiably bumped fists and sworn to never to speak of it again) would no doubt scandalize all those busybodies. And God forbid he reveal one of his great-uncles had shared most of his life with a man.

* * *

The orphanage had a special box, heated and padded, where a baby could be left. It was linked to an alarm system. Every other month, Brother Allen would find a newborn in it. Local unwed pregnant women, too often still girls, also fled here. The luckiest came with a sympathetic relative and then were welcomed back home. Others couldn't return, and so the staff and volunteers did their best to school them for factory work. Some older children came to them too, fleeing abusive situations. The staff and volunteers did their best to teach every child a trade, and to find adoptive parents for as many as they could.

Reginald didn't hope to rid a region of millions of its misery, but by helping others, one child at a time, one day at a time, his nightmares lost their claws. Yes, they had to send adolescents to factories when with greater means they could have given them a better education, better chances. Yes, some of the marriages their girls entered were not ideal (but they made sure to follow up, to make sure 'not ideal' did not become _tragic_). Yes, those disabled children could be given a relatively happy childhood but not protected in adulthood. But it was still better than nothing, better than anything Regulus had ever done.

Reginald, especially during the first years, would be tempted to call Andrew. A few flicks of a wand and the bright lad condemned to a life of charity could have walked again. A few potions, or a glamour, would have healed the sixteen year old's acid-burned face. Instead he prayed, for serenity, and did his best without magic.

He took pictures, most for the charity. The kids had little, but photo-albums was something he could give them. Some pictures sold, others were included in pamphlets to attract donors. Reginald became good at finding people willing to give money. He talked to local politicians, reached out for institutional support. Some of that led him places that reminded him of his previous life. He'd never truly forgotten how to talk to those who cared above all else about public perception.

* * *

"How many times did I tell you to get married?" Jayanti hollered. "Then this would not have happened!"

Reginald had been outside on a bench, marking the stories he'd had the older kids write. He raised his head to see Jayanti and Brother Allen striding towards him.

The heavy-set matron glared at him with a rare vehemence. Reginald's lips twitched. "Who is inconveniently in love me this time?"

But the way Allen rubbed his graying beard, as he would do when he was upset but trying to be a good Christian about the way he'd phrase things, was slightly alarming.

"Neetu is here," Jayanti said with a huff. "With a child."

"Oh. That's wonderful! I thought she was barren." Reginald's smiled died. _Why would Neetu return? Had her relatives kicked her out? Was she alright?_

Jayanti looked like she was going to throttle him. Allen sighed.

"A child, who," the gray-haired man said slowly, "if I may be so bold, looks like a perfect mix of the both of you."

_What? Oh, Merlin. _

Neetu had come from one of the nearby villages, fleeing domestic abuse. She'd been in her early thirties, and barren. She was lovely, funny and sweet. Regulus, tall for an Indian but otherwise lean, crippled, and not particularly assertive, was one of the few younger men she did not seem intimidated by. She'd stayed nine months, helping with the orphans until they'd managed to track down a relative happy to host her, and find the money to send her across the country.

"She was barren..." Reginald grumbled. Yes, sleeping with her was bad and sinful and everything. Still, he liked to think he'd given her confidence in her body, an appreciation for what sex could be like, and higher expectations of men. He'd also had dutifully stayed chaste for eleven bloody years, despite some of the teenage girls from the orphanage realizing _he_ might make a decent marriage prospect. Luckily, sixteen-year-olds he'd seen grown up were not tempting enough to make him forget his good sense. They didn't need to be betrayed in the one place they'd felt safe.

"Not barren then?" he said wryly in accented Tamil. Neetu looked better than when she'd left. Better clothes, new shoes, makeup. He was glad to see it.

"I thought I was, I promise! They'd all always told me it was _me_, but the doctor I saw said they'd lied, that it was _him_. I'm sorry... "

She looked so distraught, clutching a wrapped up bundle against her. Reginald smiled and gently grasped her shoulders. _He_ was the fool, for having taken a barely literate country woman who'd never seen an actual doctor at her word.

"Did you come back to ask me to marry you?"

She laughed faintly. That sweet smile. Neetu had not let a miserable marriage and worse in-laws steal her warmth, a warmth that had easily charmed Regulus. "No. I've found a job, and a good man. He's a widower, and he's kind, with a good position. I... he can't take me with the girl. He wasn't angry at me, only, you understand. She's beautiful, Reggie. I know you can take care of her."

Unfortunately, Reginald _did_ understand. And as he was relieved she hadn't come back intent on marrying _him_, it'd be hypocritical of him to berate her. "You've given her a name?"

"Ananti." _Gift_. "I won't be angry if you change it. She won't remember."

Neetu turned the baby so it faced Reginald. Sleepy but awake, the girl stared back at him with wide black eyes. Her smooth bronze skin shone bright against her mother's darker complexion.

The baby, _his_ child, smiled.

In that moment, facing an eight months old who smiled like his brother, he was Regulus Black again. _'What would you name your children?' _Narcissa had once asked, giddily preparing her own wedding.

"Lyra," he whispered, his chest tight. "Lyra Ananti."

"Lyra," Neetu repeated, trying out the sound. "What is its meaning?"

"It's an antique musical instrument." He swallowed, willing the truth out after so many years of pretending he had no past. "It's a group of stars in the sky." He'd never thought to ask the Tamil word for _constellation_. "Those have meaning in my family."

"A good name then." She lowered her eyes. "Thank you for not being angry."

Reginald pressed a kiss on her forehead. Neetu could have been selfish, instead, she had crossed half the country to bring his daughter back. Now, both Neetu and the baby would have their best chance. "She's here now. I know you did your best. Shall I send pictures?"

Eyes tearful, Neetu shook her head, stepping away from him. "She can't be mine. I'm glad I could give you a beautiful baby, but she can't be mine, Reggie. She's yours."

* * *

"So now you're going to raise your own child, in the orphanage." Jayanti, cross-armed in her colorful sari, had a gift for making one feel like a scolded child, but after over a decade, Reginald had grown immune to her scowls.

"Yes, it'll show the girls men can be parents too. Expectations are healthy."

"We give our children as much love and attention that we can, but it can't compare to what parents give in whole families," Christine fretted. "The jealousy -"

"They already know life is unfair," Reginald snapped. "they'll deal with it. The child is here. I'm not going to neglect her in the name of some misguided idea at fairness, and if you suggest I put her up to adoption, I'll punch you. Metaphorically speaking," he added not wanting the argument to devolve into a full blown fight.

"You still must marry," Jayanti said. "Or this is going to happen again."

"It won't, and if I do fail to resist temptation, I'll put on a bloody condom."

"You'd better," Jayanti agreed, pointing a warning finger at him.

Christine glowered at them both. She was muscular woman in her fifties who'd been tending the grounds and taken charge of the charity's kitchen ever since her children had left home. Her husband was a pastor and she had the rigidity of people convinced of subscribing to absolute truth and used to being listened to.

"Reginald, you're still young, it's natural to crave companionship. Just set your mind to it and you'll find someone. You'll make a woman happy, and you'll have a family. Jayanti loves you for being the white man who forces the volunteers to reexamine their prejudices about Hindu arranged marriages, so surely you're not opposed to some... matchmaking?"

"Indeed, boy, I'll find you a fine Indian wife."

Reginald grinned fondly. He didn't doubt she'd have someone for him to meet within two weeks. His mirth died.

There would be no fully understanding Reginald Gray without knowing _Regulus_. No woman deserved a husband who'd forever lock her out. No woman would happily choose a one-armed poor foreigner; it'd be settling and he knew he'd come to resent it. "Well, I have a baby now," he said with a tight-lipped smile. "Ladies don't love that."

"Excuses, excuses. You'll be the saving grace of a poor soul who strayed like yourself."

Reginald stared at Christine flatly. "If marriage kept people from straying, we'd know."

Jayanti threw her hands in the air. "Enough! We must make inventory of what Neetu brought and see what supplies the baby needs."

* * *

"Whispers are your girl's a witch," Brother Allen said, lips pinched.

"Really?" Reginald exclaimed, a smile creeping on his lips. "What kind of magic did she do?" He'd thought that as a squib, he'd have no magic to give. Lyra was five, old for a first bout of accidental magic. But perhaps without exposure to mages or magic, a late awakening was normal.

"I hear she heals abnormally fast when she plays."

"That's harmless. As long as she doesn't make dead rabbits come alive to play with her..."

"You think it's funny?" Unlike Allen, Christine looked more alarmed than annoyed.

No Reginald was thrilled. And terrified. _What was Indian policy regarding magical children and accidental magic? Would they come here? Take Lyra from him?_ He cleared his throat and put on the solemn face the others had been expecting from the start.

"I'll talk to her. She's five. I'm not going to let people mistreat a five year old because she heals quickly."

"Magic is the devil's work," Christine warned. "Take it seriously."

Reginald's eyes narrowed, something old and buried stirring inside him. _Muggle, _he venomously thought.

"No doubt, Satan makes everyone around the magical person act abominably towards the poor child, and then snatches all their souls up because those righteous wretches didn't think to repent." He smiled sarcastically. "Don't give in to temptation."

"Of course we won't harm the girl!" Allen said outraged, sending Christine an exasperated glance. "I'll try to put an end to the rumors, I'm just warning you in case things escalate."

"You didn't see it, Al," Christine said slowly. "Vanti fell of the tree. A terrible fall... Lyra, understandably scared, poor love, started telling Vanti '_you're okay_', more and more forcefully. Until Vanti _got up_. I saw the child's spine twist, Reginald!"

"A miracle," Reginald said with an affected shrug. "Christine, are you seriously worried because a child wasn't paralyzed from a fall?"

"Miracle," the woman repeated weakly. "The heat must be getting to me. Just... the kids are whispering. It's hard to parse truth from twisted facts from the three to eight year old crowd. Talk to Lyra so she learns to deflect accusations and I'll make sure the others understand that benevolence is a virtue."

Reginald had to resist the temptation to encourage his little girl to practice. Instead, he hid himself behind what he hoped was benevolent paternal sternness.

* * *

Lyra was six and a half when Reginald finally saw it for himself.

A silly conflict between children. Eight year old Lajita telling Lyra she was too young to join the other girls' game. Lyra, upset, protesting. 'I'm not!' A merciless, 'yes you are, go with the babies.' Lyra, red-faced, shouting 'I'm NOT!'.

And suddenly she _wasn't_, hidden by an illusion that makes her grow twice as big. Lajita and the other girls screamed.

Swallowing back a laugh, Reginald ran to his daughter and picked her up, now an expert at doing everything one-armed. He met Christine's pointed gaze, and impatiently jerked his head towards the panicked children. He didn't need help with his own daughter.

"I didn't meant to!"

"You can't help it," Reginald assured her calmly. "The only way to not do any magic is to never want something very much. You'd be either the dullest child, or the most spoiled one."

She smiled weakly, her arms around his neck and her fingers curling tightly around his clothes. "Magic is the devil's work."

Reginald froze. His little girl's guilty black eyes burned into his. The sad confidence in her voice suddenly forced him to face the truth he'd been running from.

Lyra was a witch.

A witch could not grow among muggles.

She had no use for Reginald Gray. She needed Regulus Black.

He swallowed back the familiar fear, the guilt, attached to his old name. He could not keep his daughter ignorant from their world.

"Lyra, people are stupid about things they don't understand. I'm going to take you to see some good mages. You'll see there's nothing devilish about it."

* * *

"You're leaving?" There was no accusation, only a wistful sadness, in Brother Allen's tone.

"I have to. She can't stay here."

"You know I don't believe in magic... But I can't deny the poor child has been at the heart of quite a few incidents I just can't explain."

Regulus wondered, what would trigger obliviators to come. But the Statute was not in danger. Most of the time, children had been the only witness, or things had been dismissed as coincidences. People like Christine _already_ believed in magic, and they would not run to the authorities or cause panic.

"I'll miss you, Al, but you have a whole team of excellent people. She only has me." And she needed to be around people who stopped referring to her as _that poor child_.

"I'm not trying to make you stay, Reggie. It's been nineteen years. You came here suffering, barely more than a child yourself; now you're a man who's found God, and himself. I'm glad, and I'm proud of you. It's time for you to walk your own path." Allen grinned and opened his arms. "Don't forget to send us good people, if the Lord sends some your way."

Regulus warmly returned the older man's embrace, eyes bright.

"Thank you, for everything."

* * *

"It's nice," Lyra commented, excitedly running circles around him as they entered Andrew Cassidy's garden. Even in the garden itself, the air was dryer, the heat pleasant instead of stifling, and lush plants grew with no care for climate or season. Regulus grinned at the tawny owl peering down at them from a lemon tree heavy with ripe fruit.

"Look up here. That's one of the short-distance postmen of the magical world."

Lyra stared. "This odd bird is a shape-shifter?"

Regulus laughed, launching into an explanation of post owls.

"Can't believe you waited so long to bring her here, Gray," Andrew said in way of greeting, a smile on his face. Like Regulus, he'd aged with the grace of mages, looking closer to thirty than his forty years. His robes were white and elaborate, in Indian fashion, five times heavier than Lyra's sari. Cooling charms encouraged sartorial excesses. His yew wand was visible on his hip.

Regulus would have liked to say that the sight of it didn't pain him anymore. It'd be a lie. Here he was doubly crippled. But he had to step up as a father. He was done running.

"It's Black, actually. Regulus Black."

He'd expected it to be the start of a conversation, but the sheer shock on Andrew's face was more than he'd bargained for.

"_The_ Regulus Black? Weren't you murdered after stealing Riddle's Horcrux?"

_Horcrux_. Now _that_ was a nightmare he'd thought buried long ago. Something he'd never expected _Andrew_ to know. "How did _you_ get so well informed?"

Looking dazed, Andrew welcomed them inside the house. After Lyra was led to Andrew's school-aged boy's bedroom and merrily distracted with animated plush-toys, Andrew dropped a stack of newspapers on the table before Regulus. "Read this. Then you owe me a story."

When Regulus had become Reginald, he had severed old ties. He had searched, and later prayed, for serenity and absolution. Madras had become home. Reading of England hit him harder than he'd expected.

Voldemort, killed in 1981, when he'd tried to murder baby Harry Potter. James Potter, Lily Evans, and so many others, murdered.

Sirius, wrongly incarcerated for thirteen years. Escaped. Cleared only after his death. A hero of the second war (the _second_ war). _Lord Black_. Father had made him his heir once more.

Father, Mother, long dead.

Dizzy, Regulus read on.

Bellatrix had killed Sirius. _How could she have?_ But Regulus remembered those last months, his cousin's madness. Bellatrix, dead during the Battle of Hogwarts.

The battle of _Hogwarts_, children, even younger than during _his_ war, made to fight on the front lines.

Voldemort, dead for good, one year ago.

Regulus took a shaky breath. _Seven Horcruxes_. The tightness in Regulus' chest eased, replaced by a smile when he read Potter's statements about Slytherin's Locket : Kreacher was alive.

Harry Potter, twice vanquisher of the Dark Lord. _Lord Black._ How like Sirius, to flout all traditions and name his godson, a boy who already had a house name, who was already heir. Not that Regulus begrudged the young man his title. He owed Harry Potter more than the boy knew.

Sirius had had family he loved, in the end. Regulus was glad.

Today he understood where his brother's anger had come from. Why Sirius had been so cruel. Regulus had come to realize he'd been just as cruel, invalidating everything Sirius felt, telling him that it was all _fair, _that the abuse was Sirius' fault. He'd looked up at Sirius, his big brother, but Sirius had been a child himself. Too immature to know how to deal with the anger that consumed him. Yet somehow, unlike Bellatrix, Sirius had known to find people who treated him well. Regulus didn't hate their parents, he'd loved them and he knew they'd loved him, as much as they could love. But he didn't need to hate to recognize the harm they had wrought.

He desperately wished he could talk to Sirius.

Regulus had to put the newspapers down when he learned Edward Tonks was dead. Ted, the man who had put a passport in his hand, _him_, a_ Death Eater_, and wished him well. Regulus wept for him, and for Andromeda, who deserved so much better. And Nymphadora, the little girl (no, not girl : woman, auror, mother_. How many things Regulus had missed!_).

Soon, another familiar name caught his eye: he hadn't been the only one to rethink his association with the Dark Lord. _Merlin, Severus, you were so much braver than I ever was. _Another conversation he'd never be able to have._ I hope you found it in you to forgive yourself, old friend._

His heart grew lighter when he read of Narcissa lying to the Dark Lord during the low point of the Battle of Hogwarts, saving a half-conscious Harry Potter.

"I probably shouldn't have dumped it all on you like that -"

"No, Andrew, thank you," Regulus whispered. "It reminds me of what I still have." Narcissa, Andromeda. Kreacher.

So many people he'd convinced himself he'd never see again. So many things he'd locked away.

He stood up. "I need to go home." He couldn't afford to hide anymore. "Lyra, darling!"

Her eyes glued to the magical lights now floating in the living-room, the little girl clumsily ran into Regulus' leg. He chuckled, squeezing her shoulders.

"I need to say a name for me, like you're calling and want the person to come."

"Who?"

"Kreacher." He had no idea how far elves could hear, or pop. But the bond was one of blood, and Lyra was a Black. He had nothing to lose.

"Kreacher?" Regulus nodded encouragingly as she shot him a confused glance. "Kreacher!" She frowned when nothing happened. "Kreacher, _Kreacher_ !" Lyra sighed. "Are you quite sure it's magic, Appa?"

"Quite. Concentrate."

She shut her eyes and balled her fists. "I _am_! Kreacher !"

Regulus couldn't quite believe it when a pop sounded in the room. Stooped, wrinkled, uglier than ever, but it was _him_.

Lyra squealed. "_This_ is Kreacher? Sorry, I mean... hello?" she whispered wide-eyed, gingerly holding her hand out towards the hooked-nosed big-eared creature that barely reached her chest.

Regulus knelt next to his daughter. Poor Kreacher looked pole-axed.

"You don't remember, Kreacher" Regulus said thickly, "but you and cousin Meda helped me escape. She cut off the mark. I'm a squib now. I had to hide here, from the Dark Lord."

"Master Reggie?" Kreacher finally said breathlessly, his long fingers gently brushing Regulus' stump. He looked like the only thing stopping him from bursting into sobs was sheer shock.

"Yes. I'm sorry I had to lie. I missed you too."

"But, Appa, _what_ is he?" Lyra whispered loudly, clutching onto his arm.

"Kreacher watched over me when I was a child."

"Like a demon?"

Christian charity had saved Regulus' life, but God would forgive him for dispelling some absurd notions about magic and creatures. "No, he's good. He's a house elf."

_Elf_, Lyra muttered soundlessly, a deep frown creasing her forehead. "Does he brings presents?"

Kreacher's wet eyes were soft as he gazed upon the girl. "Master Reggie be wanting presents for little Mistress?"

Regulus chuckled. "I'd like to go home. If it's safe for us."

* * *

**Next chapter, we'll be back in magical England. No more chapters in Regulus' point of view are planned. It's time we heard from Andromeda again. **


	25. A: Survivors and Memories

**Here we are, back in Britain, a little earlier than when the previous chapter left us. **

* * *

**October 1998 – Five months after the battle of Hogwarts**

The Black property at Grimmauld Place had been a lot of things : ostentatious furniture of wood, leather and skins, sprawling displays of _history_ (Orion and Walburga would have loved to display _wealth_, but limited finances had led them to pretend to value cracked second-century druid scythes over enchanted silver mirrors), and also noise. Walburga and Sirius' arguments, portraits overeager to share their critical opinions, and the crackling of magic : those wards that Orion had wanted _noticeable_.

These things were so entwined with her memories of the house, that it took Andromeda a while to realize that what felt so off today was simply the _silence_. She slowed midway into the living-room, where the afternoon light barely filtered-in. She'd first thought it empty with the magical lights off and the empty couches (light gray, linen, new. _Modernity,_ creeping here of all places).

Harry was seated on the ground, cross-legged, his brow knitted as he poked his wand against the large square cloth in his lap. The material was odd, a fabric that was possibly dirty-white or a mix of washed-out colors.

Andromeda crouched and ran her fingers on the flexible but rough fabric. Not not _fabric_.

"The spells act like there's nothing there," Harry muttered. "I found it in the bottom drawer of that wooden chest in the kitchen, the one that looks like it was stolen from a sixteenth century Scottish church."

"That," Andromeda said, her lips twitching despite herself, "Is kelpie _skin."_

"Ugh!" Harry scrambled to his feet, pushing it off him. "Tell me you didn't have tea on that thing."

"No, it was used to wrap artifact or conceal illegal tomes. You noticed it's invisible to detection spells."

Harry's sigh was full of resignation. _Their poor Gryffindor Lord Black._ "Oh I'm definitely starting to see how much cool stuff a dark family with dubious ethics can accumulate. It just looked so deceptively _harmless_."

His pleading eyes were too wide, his long-suffering look wholly exaggerated. He couldn't get enough of the family's secrets. Andromeda had stopped counting the times he'd propped down next to her with some obscure relative's diary or biography and announced _"Meda, we need to talk about this, your great-whatever was messed up!"_

Smiling now, Andromeda crossed her arms."You bought all those nice new couches; why do I always find you on the floor?"

With a black indoors cloak thrown over his muggle jeans and shirt, Harry looked quite the modern wizarding teenager. The cheeky smile did nothing to dispel the notion. "I killed Voldemort, I sit where I please."

"I see," she said with a schooled straight face. Harry was a peculiar boy, extraordinarily resilient and, these days, aggressively good-humored.

He'd shut himself away from crowds after the war, refusing even to attend the ceremony in which Minister Shacklebolt distributed Orders of Merlin to those who had fought. The next day, the _Prophet_'s first page said _"The-Boy-Who-Vanquished refuses to set foot in the Ministry until Sirius Black's name isn't cleared and the people involved in the Fudge-Umbridge administration's blunders not subjected to the same scrutiny as Death Eaters' actions."_

And when Harry _had_ come to stand before what remained of the Wizengamot, it had been to speak in favor of Narcissa and Severus Snape. And once more he'd asked why it was only Death Eaters who were being tried.

_"Four people hit professor McGonagal with stunners at the end of my fifth year," _Harry had said, his anger locked behind stubborn calm. _"More than four were actually present that night. So when is _that_ trial scheduled for?"_

Kingsley's expression, the one that said _"Harry's right, but politically inconvenient right now,"_ had greatly increased Andromeda's fondness for the boy (and done nothing to alleviate her cynicism towards the Ministry).

But Harry had never liked the spotlight. He was tired of defending himself and wondering if he'd wake up a hero or hated. Fixing up Grimmauld Place had become his new crusade and he spent more time with her and Teddy than with the Weasley clan.

_"You don't need anything from me, except that I do right by Teddy, obviously,"_ he'd admitted on the day Andromeda had said he might as well leave some of his belongings in one of her house's empty rooms. _"You're easy."_

It was now the late October. Almost six months after Voldemort's downfall. Two weeks after Narcissa had moved in with Andromeda. Two weeks after Malfoy Manor had been ceded to Luna Lovegood and the Malfoy vaults turned over to Hogwarts, for the rebuilding, and for the finding and assisting of muggleborn and their families. One month after the start of a peculiar new school year that Minerva McGonagall had fought tooth and nail not to postpone.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna... they'd all returned to school. All but Harry, whose brooding worried Molly Weasley. Only, Andromeda didn't see this brooding Harry. She saw a young man who dived headfirst into new projects : the house, god-fatherhood, and now Narcissa's dementor crusade (_Bellatrix_'s crusade, a last echo of their sister's brilliance, of what she could have been had she not been so consumed by darkness). Who, with his attitude, dared Andromeda to tell him _'Harry, stop pretending to be fine.'_

But who was she to tell him that? _She_ was pretending to be fine. Pretense didn't make her enjoy any less the time she spent with her grandson or her little sister. Pretense had helped her survive her childhood. It wasn't necessarily the healthiest solution, but it had its place.

Ted had never set foot in this house she lived in, and so pretense was easier. Still, she sometimes would turn, words at the tip of her lips, or just seeking to meet her husband's eyes. Always, shadows would greet her. It was a game of hide and seek, of cautiously circling her own grief, never quite facing it head on. Increasingly now, she dared think of her husband in the past tense. She loathed it, but she knew she would survive. It wasn't _Ted_'s ghost she fled.

_'Where do think you're going?'_

_'I'm an auror. I don't let kids fight a war alone.'_

_'You've just given birth ! You're staying here -"_

_'Teddy needs both his parents, I'm bringing Remus back.' That wide smile, easy, confident, insolent. 'Love you, Ma.'_

The witch took a slow breath, focusing on the dark-haired boy before her, the one who needed her. "Do you know why you haven't returned to Hogwarts?"

She didn't ask _why_. She didn't say _you should have gone_. She wasn't convinced Harry had made a mistake.

The boy shrugged, his face suddenly blank.

"It gets easier to be in control of your own life, if you know why you feel and why you do things," Andromeda said gently. "It's not an innate skill."

Harry nodded with a soft sigh. Molly had told Andromeda he was defensive, but that was not what Andromeda saw (Molly to her credit, did her best to be tactful, but you could see it, how the woman struggled with the distance Harry kept between them).

"How did you to it, Meda? I imagine your parents didn't ask what _you_ wanted all that often, or how you felt."

Perhaps that was why they could talk. Perhaps Molly and the rest of the Weasleys made it seem _too_ easy. Love, family trust. Harry had yet to learn to say _no_ when Molly told him what to do without feeling guilty or like a disappointment.

"Books," Andromeda admitted. "When Sirius and I were children, I could tell he was struggling. I... I didn't know how to talk to him. So I told him stories. Stories where it was okay to be angry when the world was unfair."

"You want to read to me?" Harry said, a faint smile in his voice. "I... What I _do_ know is that this thing with Narcissa, the dementors, I want this to work. I... it's like Voldemort: it's a problem I can hope to hex away. It's not easy but it's _simple_. Hogwarts would be complicated."

Andromeda could understand why Harry _couldn't_ do complicated right now.

"How about I do tell you a story." Andromeda decided. "But I'll need you to help me with the set up."

"Why, you story-tell with props?" Harry hid behind gentle insolence these days. There was anger in him, but anger that also battled guilt and apathy, that spurred him to _live on_.

"I need you to spend some of Uncle Alphard's drug money. We need a pensieve."

"Sure. Hold on, _drug money_?"

Andromeda smiled faintly. "Perhaps the first story will be the one behind the gold in the Black vault."

"But Sirius said Alphard was his favorite. The man was disowned!"

"It's complicated," Andromeda teased. She found it was easy with him, easier than with Dora. Dora had seen right through her and Andromeda had cared, perhaps more than was healthy, what her daughter had thought of her. With Harry, there was no past, no expectations, except the unsaid promise to be family. She could discuss the Blacks without discussing it _too much_. "Can you handle it?"

Harry lazily flicked his wand, transfiguring his robes a vibrant red and gold. He thumped his chest with his fist. "I can take it."

Andromeda's soft laughter echoed against the living-room's freshly painted white walls. "You have no idea what you're in for."

* * *

_It was night-time in Hogsmeade. The two skulked behind the closed shops like thieves, clad in privacy wards. The teenager hid her nervousness well, but not well enough to betray that she wasn't fully comfortable with the setting. The man with her, with his ostentatious jewelry and tacky robes that could be nothing other than a provocation, didn't look the type a teenage girl would be happy to be alone with, especially at night._

_"What got into you to summon me like this, girl? Got myself all shielded up for a setup, I did!" Temporary runes flickers on Alphard's robes, like fireflies in the night._

_"Why did you think taking Sirius and Bella to see those camel-griffs last year was a good idea?" _

_"Young-uns need their minds broadened. Poor Sirius especially was a dire need of a laugh." _

_"What does it change? To be disowned?" Seventeen-year-old Andromeda stood stiff, her arms not quite crossed and her inquisitive gaze burning into her outrageous uncle._

_"For me? More publicity." Alphard wagged his dyed eyebrows, elbows behind his head as if it was all a big joke. "And some women just love bad boys. Walburga's mad but she's been madder."_

_"I don't think so. You've forced her to choose between Uncle Orion and you."_

_"Wait, you think _I_ had a chance to be chosen?" His loud mocking laughter had Andromeda wince and look around despite the charms. "Merlin's balls, I should have taken some Felix Felicis!"_

_"Did you do it on purpose, Uncle? Did you know it would happen?"_

_"They get younger and younger, don't they? Those Blacks who tell me I screwed up."_

"I didn't say that," Andromeda whispered, but her younger self hadn't quite dared. She'd barely begun admitting to herself that she was desperately curious about what kind of life she could lead, freed from the weight of her noble and ancient name.

"People who don't answer your questions are so annoying..." Harry quipped, all too aware many people accused _him_ of shutting them out these days.

"Can't stand them."

Harry grinned, his eyes never leaving Alphard and her memory-self.

_"Well, this was nice," Alphard declared. "But I've got someplace fun to be. I'll -"_

_Andromeda's hand latched around the man's arm. "I'm coming with you. I'm of age."_

_"Pumpkin, you could be a hundred, I'm not being seen in public with you. For your own good, and mine."_

_Andromeda glared, unimpressed. She silently waved her wand, keeping it pointed at herself. Her appearance changed._

_"Something wrong with Anne?" she said, a hint of challenge in her voice._

_Anne was red-headed, lean and muscled. She was older than Andromeda, twenty-five at least._

"You should read Anne of Green Gables. The orphan gets her happy ending."

"Sounds brilliant."

_'Anne' hadn't quite expected the whirlwind Alphard brought her to._ _It wasn't a large event. Only twenty people, in a house, and soon she realized people figured she was her uncle's mistress (no, not _mistress_, that was too official, too long-term). _

_Hallucinatory powders began being shared. They reduced the barrier between consciousness and accidental magic, favoring partial self-transfiguration. Andromeda, dazed, found herself seated next to a man whose arm had become a swan's wing. Conversations became animated as a kind of trance began to grip the participants. _

_Andromeda, curious, breathed in one of the powders that just seemed to affect the senses. Scents became colors, blurring the room. Faces twisted beyond recognition as people spoke. _

"How did you not run away," Harry whispered wide-eyed, backing away instinctively as everything around them became impossible. His faded briefly, as if subconsciously pulling out of the pensieve.

"It was odd but I don't recall feeling alarmed. Only curious." Now, she realized how young she had been, how badly things could have gone. Then, she'd felt _adult_, of course she had.

_Before her, on a soft velvet couch, the woman with the finned hands and flowing hair was half naked and smiling languidly as she removed more of her clothes._

_Alphard grabbed Andromeda by the shoulders. "I'll take you out," he slurred, his fingers tight around her waist._

_"Why? No I-" _

_"Don't. If you insist I'll let you stay, then you'll hate me. It's not the kind of fun you want to stumble into. You had enough for a first night."_

_He apparated at the edge of Diagon Alley. Closed shops silently stared down at her. She shivered in the night, fascinated by the songs that came from every magical light._

_"I don't know how to apparate," she muttered. But Alphard was long gone. She sighed and dispelled her glamour. "Bean?"_

_The old house elf popped into the near deserted alley. Her outline was a silver blur and her magic tasted of wildflowers._

_"Bean is surprised. Young Mistress Meda getting in trouble all alone? Bean expecting Bella."_

_"No trouble. I'm broadening my horizons. Besides, I've never had detention. I'm curious to see what they're like. Please take me to Hogwarts."_

Harry snorted. "You're so full of it." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I'm impressed at your ability to tell straight-faced lies."

Andromeda pulled them out of the pensieve. '_Bean expecting Bella'. _How... _not loaded _Bellatrix's name had been then.

"First one-on-one moment with my Uncle," she summed up as Harry rubbed his eyes. "And that was him in a responsible light. I introduced him to Ted once. You should have seen what he tried to make us do when I wasn't his to supervise anymore."

"Did Sirius do drugs?"

"No, he didn't care to find out how he'd act without inhibitions. Your godfather did have _some_ wisdom."

That earned her a light shove. Harry was awfully protective of Sirius.

"Well," Harry said after a while, shoulders tight the memory sunk in. "You've totally ruined my fantasy of Sirius' cool Uncle. So... all that money Sirius gave me, it's _really_ drugs?"

"My dear Harry, what do you think the story behind Orion's _inherited_ money is? I can tell you that that kelpie skin you found wasn't _bought_."

A shadow fell on Harry's face. "Right. The house elf skulls should have clued me in about the fact you lot were a bunch of magical creatures poachers. Ugh. I'm going to have to spend it all on something disgustingly good, aren't I? What does Saint Mungo's need these days?"

* * *

**January 1999**

Harry returned from Hogsmeade wearing a wistful smile, as if he was equally thrilled and disappointed to have seen his friends. Andromeda met his gaze expectantly. Usually the boy vanished after having spent time with others, and he knew better than to show up uninvited past midnight.

"And why are _you_ not sleeping?" he cooed at Teddy who was chewing at his socks on the kitchen table.

The baby smiled, his eyes hidden behind a mop of brick-red curls and his mouth still full of foot.

"Cissy and I got distracted this afternoon, we let him nap too long."

"Aw, chew away then, you poor neglected thing."

Andromeda's low-power stinging hex dissolved against a shield. Harry side-eyed her fondly, as if to say _'have you forgotten who it is that you're trying to hex?'_

Harry removed his winter cloak and sat down next to her with a sigh."It's too much the same and too different. Ron and Hermione are dating. Snape's gone. Minerva's not teaching. Too many people are missing. Seamus' scar is worse than Bill's, and Padma..." Harry pursed his lips. "They all still stare. That's one of the things that's the same, I guess. It's weird... They all have these scars and I _lost_ my scar... Hermione thinks I have survivor's guilt, and maybe I do, a little, but she doesn't get that it's the _staring_." He shook his head, his eyes brimming with anger. "They're all very eager to tell me what I should be doing now that Voldemort is dead."

"Ron and Hermione?"

"No, not them," he said more softly. "Not Neville, Ginny or Luna either. I'm not annoyed at _them_. You must have noticed I don't read the _Prophet_."

_Oh, she had._ "Do you think you should?"

"Everyone seems to think I should, even Hermione..." He shrugged, and it seemed he'd finally gotten what he wanted off his chest. "I convinced Arthur to give me back Sirius' motorbike. I dropped it at the house before going to Hogsmeade. I'm going to give repairing it a shot. Do you know the story behind that bike?"

She knew what he was asking. It had become a ritual, the pensieve memories.

"I know parts of it. Will you be seeing the Weasleys soon?" They always extended an invitation when they saw Harry.

"Dinner on Wednesday. Fred and Percy will be there." He suddenly seemed smaller, his shoulders slumping. "Arthur wanted to fix the bike with me. He was hurt. He didn't say anything, but... That's why I waited so long to get the bike back... I'm angry at them. Him and Molly."

"Do you know why you're angry?"

"Some, but not quite. They're giving me space, I love them for that. They know I love them. I don't _want_ to be angry at them but it's not going away." He shook his head, his green eyes far away. "You make me ask questions, Meda. It was a rule_ 'no questions.'_ So many things could have gone differently if I'd thought to ask. To question."

It had become clear to Andromeda that Harry's curiosity, and worse, his critical thinking, had been deliberately stunted in childhood. Seven years at Hogwarts had undone some of the damage but not all, not nearly. But Andromeda wasn't worried. They had time.

* * *

_"What the hell?" Ted exclaimed._

_"That's what the salesman said when I handed him a wad of cash." Sirius' apologetic shrug failed to erase his smug grin. "Lils said he must've thought it was crime money. How was I supposed to known honest muggles don't carry around fat wads of cash?"_

_The black motorcycle was seven foot long, its gleaming silver engine under the leather seat. Blinded by the large front headlight, Ted glowered at Sirius who turned the light off with a flick of his wand, his grin growing wider with every second. _

_"Marauder-grade enchantments, no _Finite_ will cripple my bike, man. I must go charm some journalist chick into writing an article about it, just so Mother can see it. She might choke, you know?"_

_"What the hell!" Three years old Nymphadora piped up from next to her father. She met Andromeda's warning look with a defiant one of her own."Hell!" Nymphadora's grin fell when the toddler realized she was now trapped in a silence field. _

_"Sirius, why is this in _our_ garden?" Twenty-five years old Andromeda said while Nymphadora began to soundlessly scream in protest at being shut out. _

Eyes bright, Andromeda couldn't take her eyes off her daughter. Finding the right balance between discipline and nurturing when Dora had been small had driven her mad.

_"I want to surprise Charlus and Dorea when I'm done."_

_Ted sighed, shaking his head as he went to pick up his (now rolling on the ground) daughter. He looked more amused than annoyed._

_"And the truth, Cousin?"_

_Nineteen years old __Sirius blinked at Andromeda, caught off guard._

Harry laughed, a fierce intensity in his green eyes as he stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder to his not-quite-solid godfather. "Right, you got him."

_Sirius finally sighed. __"Alastor Moody's an obsessed bastard. You should hear him." Sirius dramatically took a professorial pose. "Placement!" he bellowed. "Coordination! It doesn't matter if the enemy is throwing an unforgivable if the curse misses you, pups! You're going to use displacements and illusions until I can't hit you!" Sirius became a blur as he displaced himself behind Andromeda. "Enough! Now get in groups of threes and duel me! Thirty years in the field haven't made me faster than three people who can take cues from each other!" _

_Andromeda's eyes glinted with amusement. "How badly did he wipe the floor with you?" _

_"You could have transfigured me into a puddle when he was through with us, and not seen the difference..." Sirius grumbled. "Which is my point : a flying motorbike that can cast a few spells when you press the right pedals? That's like having a partner."_

_"Charlus and Dorea have no problem with you training under Moody but they'd have a problem with that?"_

_Sirius' shoulders slumped at Andromeda's inquisitive tone. "I think they've convinced themselves we just want to learn to defend ourselves..." __He pulled a fossil-like burnt looking stone out of his robes. __"Take a look."_

_Andromeda cautiously picked up the stone. It was as big at her fist but almost too heavy to be carried with one hand. _

"Touch it," Andromeda told Harry. "You should be able to feel what I remember feeling.."

The stone was so hot it almost burned. Harry's eyes widened. It pulsed with entrapped magic.

_"I rune that up, and I get dragon-fire, right? Or as close as I'll get."_

_Andromeda shot a look at her daughter. Nymphadora wasn't deaf to their talk anymore, but Ted was distracting her. "You could kill someone with that kind of fire."_

_"Meda, let's be real. I'm going to kill people. Even if I don't specifically set out to do it, it's going to happen. This is war." Sirius' jaw was grimly set. "The Potters... they need a bit more time to make peace with it. They're good people."_

"How many?" Harry whispered. "Do you know?"

"More than five, less than fifteen. I never asked." Andromeda's eyes narrowed, a familiar anger resurfacing. _ 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Tonks, but he's guilty.' 'No, nobody can visit him.'_ "There's no right answer, but what I can tell you is that without Sirius, without Snape, without those people who did things the Order found distasteful, victory might not have been ours."

"It's okay. I mean, it's okay that he had dark sides. I just want to know him better."

Andromeda let her hand rest on Harry's shoulder. "I know."

* * *

**April 1999**

Female laughter filtered through the shed where Harry was working on Sirius' motorbike. Narcissa and Andromeda shared a look.

"He brings girls to your house without a warning now?"

Andromeda's lips twitched. Trust Harry to slip Ginny into one of the most intimate facets of their lives without fanfare after almost a year of not so much as a single invite to dinner.

"Look at you, spell-crafter," Ginny exclaimed from the inside. "Hermione's worried you're falling behind, silly her."

The girl's red hair was pulled in a tight ponytail as she sweated in a sleeveless dress next to the furnace that was the shed. Her freckles shone orange as a sea of flames shot out of the bike's exhaust, contained by carefully raised wards.

"Can you deactivate that rune? This combination should be less aggressive." The holly wand was a fluid extension of Harry's arm. Which was an extension of Harry's very naked glistening chest.

Andromeda bit back an indulgent smile. That smooth-talker had no doubt claimed cooling charms to interfering with the enchantments he was putting on the bike.

She knocked once before pushing the shed's ajar wooden door open.

"Oh hi, Andromeda." Ginny's expression grew noticeably cooler when she turned to Narcissa.

"Ginny," Harry whispered, suddenly tense.

"Unlike you, Harry, I grew up spoiled," Ginny replied, all laughter gone. "Loved. I haven't had to learn to forgive being treated like shit without even first getting a true apology."

"This is about the diary," Narcissa said after a pause.

"Oh good, I was afraid you'd forgotten. Everybody was so quick to convince themselves I was fine, that it needn't _ever_ be mentioned again."

Cissy had long ago mastered the gift of looking supremely unconcerned, especially when caught off guard. Andromeda watched her consciously shed her Lady Malfoy mask as she bowed her head to this young woman that, no doubt, would have been dismissed with a frosty remark even one year before.

"The diary had grown restless," Narcissa said tightly. "It compelled Lucius to write in it. It wanted Lucius to go to Hogwarts, then it realized Draco would be a better host. I think it could feel the Dark Lord was weakened, and perhaps wanted to find the other Horcrux, but I cannot be sure. It never told Lucius. Giving it to you, who were going to Hogwarts, satisfied the compulsion."

The story was news to Andromeda. The Chamber of Secrets incident at Hogwarts had honestly slipped her mind and Lucius' name hadn't appeared anywhere in the articles mentioning the horcrux-diary. The others in the know must have chosen to stay silent to protect the Malfoys. _No wonder Ginevra was still angry. _But the articles, and Harry himself, had been quite clear about the horcruxes' dark aura. Lucius being bullied by one was something Andromeda had no reason not to believe.

"Okay," Ginny allowed after a pause. "That does make more sense than randomly trying to ruin my life, and risking Riddle's wrath by just... handing some kid the Dark Lord's super important diary. Did Mr. Malfoy come clean to you before or after I'd been in the Chamber?"

"After. I kicked Lucius out of our bedroom twice in our marriage : when he came home with the Dark Mark and when I found out he'd been lying to me for a year and almost got a child killed."

Harry stared in shock, but Ginny accepted it without batting an eyelid. "Why did he lie to you?"

Narcissa smiled mirthlessly. "If he'd told me in September what he'd done instead of acting innocent when Draco wrote home about the Chamber of Secrets, I could have _done_ something. The Dark Lord would have later found out." Her lips thinned. "Lucius sought to protect me." Her tight expression eased into something softer, more maternal. "I am sorry. No child deserved to live through that. I do wish you had gotten the support you needed."

Ginny looked down. "Mum and Dad did their best. My brothers were kids, it's silly to be angry at them... You lied to Riddle's face about Harry during the Battle of Hogwarts. That matters." She smiled. It was stiff but not hostile this time. "I just... I just needed to hear that you agreed it was awful." With a shuddering breath, the redhead turned to Harry. "See, confrontations, not the end of the world." She grinned. "So Harry was showing me this exhaust pipe that keeps vomiting dragon-like fire. That wasn't just Sirius being a show-off, was it? It sounds like an actual war weapon."

"It was," Andromeda agreed. "That's why I've been encouraging Harry to not be too faithful to the original model."

"Do you want my help or should I get drinks?" Narcissa interjected. To anybody but her sister, she'd seem perfectly relaxed, but that very perfection betrayed the fact Cissy was acutely aware of the lingering tension.

"Oh stay! I'm not missing an occasion to talk to the women Harry spends all his free time with." Hand on hips, Ginny eyed the older witch, brazenly. "I could get self-conscious, especially with your husband across the sea."

Harry flushed. He flushed deeper when Narcissa smirked. "I find you're navigating this relationship of yours rather expertly, Miss Weasley."

"I'm not sure _what_ Harry and I are, to be honest. We're _something_. We're sort of together." Ginny turned to her... _sort-of_. "But it's okay, right?"

"It's okay," Harry agreed in a soft voice, a smile digging into his still flushed cheeks. "You've got all this figured out better than I have."

"It's all these guys I dated for practice. I got tired of face-planting in front of you."

Narcissa was definitely eyeing Ginny with approval now. "Don't let him shame you for that, I slept with half of Hogwarts before Lucius and I got together, and he knew better than to say a word."

Andromeda almost choked on her own tongue. She knew Cissy could be provocative, but she hadn't expected her sister to strike back so pitilessly at a _teenager_.

"You did _not_," Harry declared, looking suddenly, hilariously, alarmed.

"Not quite. But I _wish_ half of Hogwarts had been interesting enough to sleep with."

Andromeda couldn't contain her laughter anymore. Harry's _face_. Ginny crossed her arms with huff and had to admit defeat. "You should get those drinks now, Mrs. Malfoy. I need to rennervate the Boy-who-Vanquished."

Harry blinked dumbly as Narcissa glided out of the room. He slowly turned back to Ginny.

"Sorry, I just... How could you imply that I, that _Narcissa_ -"

"To see how she'd react. I'm not too worried about you two spending hours and hours together anymore."

"You really were worried-" Harry shut his mouth when he caught the twinkle in Ginny's eye.

"Harry, I just wanted to make sure there's no competition." The girl grew more serious. "I don't mean _physically_, I mean... that she doesn't mind you seeing me, _liking_ me. It's not obvious that I'd be good enough for Lady Malfoy."

"It's none of her-."

"Hey, Mum and I gave Fleur a hard time even if she'd done nothing wrong. You two are growing close, it's human of her to have opinions."

Harry frowned, as if the thought hadn't quite occurred to him. Poor Ginny would need all the emotional intelligence growing up with seven brothers had granted her to build something with this young man. But the redhead's secret seemed to reside in the unwavering confidence that she and Harry were meant to be. A more insecure teenager would have no doubt found Harry's conflicting desire for closeness and independence utterly maddening, and taken his refusal to return to Hogwarts very personally.

"It's different." Harry decided after a few seconds, but it was almost a question. "I'm not her son."

Ginny leaned into him, nuzzling his neck. "I'm glad. I hear the guy's a prick."

Harry wrapped his arm around her, chuckling.

"Are you two expecting to get any work done? Perhaps some clothes might help you focus."

It was really all too easy to make that poor boy blush. Harry harrumphed good-naturedly. "_Yes, _Meda_." _He conjured a plain white shirt and yanked it on, pointedly ignoring Ginny's mournful sigh. "You and Narcissa can explain the dragon-fire enchantment to Ginny better than I. She studied runes, she'll get the theory. By the way, Gin, you can tell Hermione I've decided to sit my runes OWL at the end of next year. She'll think to surprise me with some good study material for my birthday."

"_Surprise_ you, huh? You sneaky fiend. Careful, those Black ladies are slytherining you." Ginny grinned as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "No it's cool. Hermione's going to be excited."

"Everybody rennervated?" Narcissa called before coming back in.

"The boy even put a shirt on."

"Oh good, it was a distraction. Especially with my husband across the sea."

"Yeah, I'm going to pay for having said that," Ginny predicted, gratefully taking her drink from the platter floating in front of Narcissa.

"Can you please not do this while I'm around?" Harry pleaded.

"Quite," Andromeda intervened. Harry looked genuinely uncomfortable. "Let's talk about runes."

* * *

**June 1999 – a year after the end of the second Wizarding War**

_"I just can't believe it! I never thought I'd struggle like this to get a job!" Lily was saying. "You must know people who can organize. There must be a way we can have a voice instead of letting others speak for us!"_

_Seated across Lily, Ted rubbed his temples with his hands. "You have to be a masochist to try elbow your way to power when you're muggleborn. And those who succeeded, like Nobby Leach, were still surrounded by purebloods of influential families."_

_"Leach was cursed, he died two years after he had to resign."_

_Lily turned to Andromeda with a depressed glare. "Shatter _all_ my illusions, must you? But I don't get it. So we're locked out of the cool influential jobs, fine, but where's the network of adult muggleborn? Why don't they go with Minerva to speak to the eleven-year-olds? Why are we stuck being orphans in the wizarding world instead of having a muggleborn 'godparent' that can answer our questions? The Ministry can't stop muggleborn kids from getting letters!"_

_"I can put you in contact with people," Ted said, smiling slightly at the young woman's enthusiasm._

_Lily smiled back, lowering her voice apologetically. "Thank you. That's all I ask."_

_"Oi, Lils! Lils!"_

_Sirius was holding a squealing Nymphadora upside down by the ankles. Andromeda frowned. Her daughter's body was a... goose's?_

_"Check this out! I tried to transfigure her into a whole goose, and it worked for like three seconds, and then her head changed back! It's like being a metamorph is a counter-spell. Maybe if we practice, she'll be able to do animals too." He tickled Nymphadora."You won't just be some boring old animagus, cousin, you'll be the whole zoo!"_

The memory-spell suddenly blurred. Andromeda realized Harry was gone. She frowned, wondering what could have disturbed him so. As she pulled her head out of the pensieve, she found him leaning against the wall cross-armed. He looked almost furious, his eyes far away.

"Why weren't you at Hogwarts?" he said. "You could have left Teddy with Julia Lupin."

_Julia. _Andromeda would have to invite Remus' mother over soon, it had been almost two weeks.

"Meda? Why _weren't_ you? You're twice the witch most aurors are."

Sudden fury clenched Andromeda's jaw. She bit back the _"How dare you!"_ burning in her chest only because Harry's grim gaze told her it was the answer he was expecting.

_'You've just given birth ! You're staying here -"_

_'Teddy needs both his parents, I'm bringing Remus back. Love you, Ma.'_

_'Fine, I'm coming with you.'_

_Dora's smile hardened, guilt darkening her eyes. For once she looked like herself, with her short dark brown curls, her father's small nose and those full lips that reminded Andromeda of Bella, a young Bella, as much as of herself. _

_Andromeda failed to react quickly enough when her wand shot out of her robes and into her daughter's hand._

_'We'll make it, but I can't take the chance. I'm sorry.'_

"She didn't let me," Andromeda said hollowly.

"What?"

_Nymphadora Tonks vanished, leaving her mother's wand behind, trapped in a shimmering sphere of magic._

"Nymphadora locked my wand in a ward. I knew the exact second she died."

_Dissolved, swished away like a spider web, leaving the wand to clatter loudly against the floor. Andromeda had screamed._

Andromeda stared unseeingly in front of her. "Had I been a Black, I could have called Kreacher."

Harry flinched. "We should never have waited so long to make you part of the family again. I'm so sorry."

Eyes burning, Andromeda said nothing. There was nothing to say. She waited for Harry to talk, to speak of the reason he'd felt the need to wake _her_ ghosts.

"I can't stop thinking that I didn't do anything," he finally whispered. "With Snape, I mean. I didn't even try. I... Do you ever think about the Resurrection Stone?"

"That way lies madness."

Harry's chuckles were bitter. "Wise words, I guess. But aren't you tempted?"

"Harry, I am a dark witch. Without strong boundaries I'd... well, perhaps saying I'd end up like Bella would be a touch dramatic."

"But don't you want answers?"

"Assuming the stone doesn't just summon pale imitations of the dead, assuming it tells us the truth and not just what we want to hear..." _What did they know about death and what lay beyond?_ _Why should she believe there existed a stone that defied all known limitations of magic? _"Can be anything be truly answered in one conversation? Two? How much time with your parents do think you'll need, until you're comfortable returning to Godric's Hollow?"

"There are no Potters left," Harry snapped, suddenly defensive. "None close enough to matter. No one's going to care if I take ten years to fix up Godric's Hollow." He shook his head. "It's something Hermione said. She said everybody was all over the place in fifth year, with Umbridge and the _Prophet_'s lies, but with the DA, we got them to focus, to reveal the best in them. It wasn't just spells, it was... _purpose_. She says we need to do this again. That I'm wasting the opportunity to use my name and fame to get the Ministry to reform rather than just rebuild."

_Ah, and now he suspected his own mother would agree with his best friend._ "You agree with Hermione?"

"Why do they need _me_? " Harry whispered. "What am I supposed to do, say _'uh, guys, I want to see some muggleborn in high places now?' _I can't change a _country_."

A sudden _pop!_ interrupted them. Kreacher grabbed Harry's trousers, looking frantic.

"It's Master Reggie!"

_What? _Andromeda belatedly realized the elf's awful grimace was in fact a big grin.

"Master Reggie being here!"

Harry straightened, suspicion darkening his features. "Here. In the _house_?"

"Yes, little Mistress called!"

Harry muttered a couple of shield spells and strode out of the room, his knuckles white around his wand.

"Nobody who isn't blood can call Kreacher," Andromeda whispered, with a firm tug on Harry's arm. She couldn't blame him for being suspicious, but 'Little Mistress' could only mean a _child_.

"Dobby was proof house elves are freer than wizards think. They can be fooled." He waved his wand the second they spotted figures in the living room. "_Accio wands_!"

A man with a crippled arm and a little girl in a colorful foreign dress turned to stare at them.

The man smiled warily. "I've been a squib for eighteen years, Harry Potter. Lyra is a little young for a wand." He caressed his daughter's head. The girl's eyes were narrowed on Harry's wand. "I raised her muggle until now, everything's new and exciting." His head bow at Harry was slightly awkward, as if he'd forgotten how to greet people the pureblood way. "You can call me Reggie."

Andromeda stared, feeling like she'd stepped into a peculiar dream. Last time she'd seen Regulus, he'd been a delicate-looking, pale nine year old. This man was thirty-five, muscled with skin sun-weathered. He wasn't handsome, not like Sirius had been, but the resemblance was obvious. There was a lack of suspicion in his expression, a softness, that had her instinctively relax. The child by his side was dark of hair and skin. She was staring at everything with the contained restlessness of a curious six-year-old who nevertheless had a basic grasp of manners.

"Welcome home, Cousin," Andromeda said faintly,_ because what else could she say?_

With an apologetic smile, Regulus waved his stump. "You did this, Meda. Cutting of the mark, binding my magic, faking my suicide for the Dark Lord. You and Edward obliviated each other, and Kreacher." His smiled faded as he took a step towards her. "I'm sorry about your husband. I remember thinking that day, when I saw the two of you together, with you standing tall and him shaking my hand, that I finally understood why losing your name had been worth it for you. Bella had become the worst of herself, Cissy was nervous and unhappy, but _you_-. The both of you saved my life. I'm sorry I couldn't tell Ted that."

"What was the name of the muggle, the one with the dogs?" she said thickly as she took an instinctive step back. Because this _couldn't_ be. _How could this be?_ To think about Ted. Ted who had _met_ Reggie. All these years she'd thought-

Regulus dropped his gaze, frowning thoughtfully. "Mr. Allen, wasn't it?" He said after a moment. He smiled faintly. "I remember you gifting Narcissa and Bellatrix that book by Vernes,_ Twenty Leagues Under the Sea_, to get them interested in machines and enchanting your own. I actually read it a few years ago. Fascinating novel."

Andromeda found herself mirroring his smile, now guilty she had chosen to bring up Allen. Regulus was right : they had shared a thousand lighter moments. "Sirius enjoyed that read more than my sisters. He loved machines and devoured Vernes' whole collection during the summer after his sixth year. I've been showing Harry some of those memories, we have pensieve."

"Good," Regulus exclaimed. "I doubt I can use still a pensieve, but my there's no reason you can't take _my_ memories. I can't occlude, but I should be able to clear my mind enough to focus on the specifics. Legilimens should also work."

He had a light accent. It reminded Andromeda of those Bollywood movies Dora had loved for the songs and the convoluted romantic drama. Andromeda just nodded, aware her lack of reaction made things even more awkward. In times of stress, she'd always retreated inwards, becoming an observer. '_This is Regulus. He's alive._ _Ted and I saved him', _echoed in her mind but didn't quite seem to sink in.

"You could try ordering Kreacher to remember, Mr. Potter. It was October 16. 1979."

"'_Harry_' is fine," Harry muttered, his earlier suspicions replaced by sheer bewilderment. He turned to the elf. "Right, remember, that's an order."

Nobody dared blink.

"Can't," Kreacher hissed after a few tense seconds, tearing at his long ears. "Can't remember!"

"Worth trying," Regulus said with a minute shrug."Let's make this pensieve work so you can watch too Kreacher."

A house elf, using a pensieve. _Preposterous_, a voice that sound all too much like Andromeda's late mother whispered. Kreacher looked up at Regulus adoringly.

Regulus lifted him up with one arm and eased him on his shoulders, as if Kreacher was a toddler. Andromeda saw the kid again then, her little cousin, always attached to that elf, always smiling, those shy smiles that begged you to smile back. As a teenager, Andromeda had shied away, not knowing what to do with this needy child who acted like their family was normal and perfect.

This time she smiled, her eyes bright. Her throat constricted. It was too much.

Lyra said something. It wasn't English. Sometime during their conversation the child had moved to explore the room, examining the pillows and scattered decorations. Now she was staring back at Andromeda in concern.

"True," Regulus agreed. "You think I should give Andromeda a hug?"

Lyra nodded, her own smile easy and confident. "You've got a constellation name," she said in accented English. "Mine is too."

"They're the best names," Andromeda agreed. She clasped Regulus' hand with both of hers. The decades with Edward had mellowed her but not quite turned her into a hugger. And Regulus was not Cissy. Still, her eyes crinkled as she released him. "Such an odd Black you made, hugging everybody even as a child."

"Retrospectively, I was so desperate to please." Regulus shook his head, as if scolding his younger self. "I couldn't understand why what worked with Mother didn't work with Sirius. I wish..." He turned to Harry. "He had this sense of justice, your godfather. I didn't care who I'd have to make myself into as long as it got me love and respect, Sirius... he refused all of our parents' attempts to change him. We spent years deaf to each other... I wish he was here. I wish we could finally _talk_."

"It's not fair you felt you had to become a Death Eater to get respect." And Harry meant it. It never failed to surprise Andromeda how Harry could both struggle to trust and yet so easily forgive.

"I failed to see the choices I had. I've made peace with that, but putting all the responsibility on my upbringing wouldn't be right." Regulus gestured at the empty wall with a frown. "Did you exile our ancestors' portraits to the attic?"

"Mistress destroyed them," Kreacher said, rubbing his arms in distress.

"Not _me_," Andromeda exclaimed when her cousin raised twin eyebrows. "Your mother. I've come to understand she wasn't quite herself during her last years. And you don't want to see _her_ portrait. It's... It's how Sirius would have described her on a day he felt particularly vicious."

Regulus winced. "A vociferating incarnation of pureblood prejudice?"

Harry laughed. He finally put away the wand he'd kept loosely by his side. "Spot on. Want to see it?"

For the first time, Regulus looked nervous. "The worst of Mother? No... I... maybe some other time."

It was the veil of grief that made it sink in. This was Reggie. Truly Reggie. Of course he'd mourn Walburga. Andromeda took a slow breath, feeling suddenly warm and giddy. Her baby cousin, the one who had never seemed to challenge the prejudices they were raised him, had survived. He'd somehow found serenity living as a _muggle_.

_She had to go find Cissy._

* * *

**And they're all back together ! I'm having fun weaving Harry into the Black family. I figured hanging out with Andromeda as a way to recuperate from the war and figure things out is the kind of thing he'd do. The first draft was _way_ more angsty, but canon Harry is rather resilient (and avoidant) so this is how things ended up. What did you think?**


	26. A: The Battle After the War

Heart racing, Andromeda apparated home and hoped her sister had not gone out. She found her and Teddy in the garden, enjoying the evening summer heat.

Teddy was crawling on a magical net attached to the roof and neighboring trees while Narcissa lounged on a reclining seat, book in hand. Fiction, for once. Gone was the stiffness born of worry, grief and those long months of torture. Her loose hair tumbling around her, she looked relaxed and utterly at home.

She smiled upon noticing Andromeda. "Teddy's had dinner already. Do send Harry my way tomorrow. I may have found a way to restore dementor-removed memories." Narcissa the socialite had given way to Narcissa the scholar (or the-destroyer-of-dementors as George Weasley liked to call her). "I'm thinking to ask for volunteers for a trial..." She frowned, taking in her sister's frazzled appearance. "What is it, Meda?"

"Stay seated. I've got news. Good news."

"Nana, look!" Teddy jumped, landing in a tangle of limbs and bouncing on the midair net stretched like a trampoline.

"Impressive! With rabbit ears, you'd jump even higher."

Recalling _White Rabbit_ from one of his storybooks, the fifteen-month-old scrunched up his face in concentration and rubbed his ears, his blue hair turning a brilliant white.

"We're soon leaving to see Harry, Teddy, last bounces."

Andromeda turned back to her sister. Hands clasped in her lap, Narcissa waited expectantly.

"Cousin Regulus. He's alive. Kreacher just apparated him home."

Narcissa's mouth moved soundlessly for a few seconds. She stood up, eyes bright. "How?"

_How indeed_. _Morgana, this was all so abrupt._ "He told me he'd come to me in October '79. Ted and I obliviated each other immediately afterwards, so I never... We staged a suicide with his marked arm. I bound his magic. He's one-armed and a squib but... he's well. He's happy. He's father of magical girl, Lyra, she's six."

"You _bound_-"

"Harry and I have managed to extract his memories and put them in the pensieve. He wants us to see them." For now, except for the very solid Lyra, everything felt so surreal, like a tale rather than Andromeda's own life.

Narcissa grasped Andromeda's arm tightly, a dazed smile blooming on her face. "Well..." she breathed, "take me to him!"

"Jump to me, Teddy," Andromeda called, drawing her wand to summon him to her. His bushy hair was still white and sticking up in spikes above his ears. _That little monster could well give himself rabbit ears by Yule. _

Regulus was still with Harry when they apparated. Lyra had disappeared somewhere with Kreacher. Unlike with Andromeda, Regulus didn't hesitate to come forward and embrace Narcissa.

The blonde, struck silent in amazement, fiercely hugged him back.

"I'm so glad," Cissy finally whispered in Regulus' hair. "I'd never quite managed to forgive myself."

"I'm sorry I didn't write. I... I became Reginald, a muggle, and... I was useful. I helped children. But... I had a child and realized I was still a coward."

Narcissa shook her head with a laugh. "Don't be absurd, you were right to hide. I'm happy. I'm so happy to have you back!" She frowned at his stump and muttered an incantation. The skin twisted and extended, taking the shape of a new unblemished forearm. The hand looked stiff but workable.

The spell wouldn't last until nightfall. Regulus smiled wistfully as he flexed his new fingers. Eyes sparkling, he picked Cissy up and made her spin. Narcissa let out a decidedly girlish squeal.

"I've been back less than an hour, cousin, and already you're trying to fix me?"

Despite his smile, Harry was standing back, staring at this new piece to the puzzle that was _the Black famil_y.

Andromeda went to him, sliding her arm around his shoulder and pushing him back among them. In her other arm, Teddy started playing with Harry's thick hair, cooing for attention. "I've shown you just memories of Sirius, haven't I? Not the ones where my little sister fools around like a perfectly normal little girl."

Narcissa cleared her throat. "I'm claiming veto power on those. I haven't showed them to _Draco_."

"It's okay," Harry muttered, his smile growing as he reached to take his godson from Andromeda. "I know they're private. Come here, Teddy, you've got a cousin to meet."

None of them said anything as Harry left (fled) with Teddy. Regulus sat on one of the new couches, his frown betraying his bewilderment at seeing the house so changed. "I _could_ have given you more warning..." he allowed, nonetheless wholly unapologetic. "So, our new Lord Black is more your kid or Meda's?"

The two sisters shared a glance. A rueful chuckle escaped Narcissa's lips.

"Oh I'd forgotten how ridiculously at ease you were with such things. Stand warned : he's most certainly not a _child_, and he doesn't need _anybody_. Teddy's the only one worthy of hugs and kisses."

"You've told him to hug you? You've hugged him? I mean, how's he to know you're family rather than _technically_ family?"

Narcissa didn't blink at Regulus' ruthlessly inquisitive tone. Andromeda now could see it, Regulus badgering Narcissa about her marriage to Lucius, asking point-blank questions about love and devotion. To think this was Walburga and Orion's flesh and blood...

"The moment he's ready to see it, he'll figure it out. We've been obvious enough. Problems will arise when he realizes _Draco_ is family, and then I'm going to have to artfully parent two proud young men who would swear under Veritaserum that they have _everything_ figured out."

They laughed, and it was like something soft and light had brightened Grimmauld Place. Suddenly, it was easy to remember how to be a family. The family they'd always wanted to be.

* * *

"I... why was it Kreacher being hurt that made you decide to move against the Dark Lord?" Harry said, still stunned by what he'd seen in Regulus memories. "I mean, of all the things -"

"Because it was Kreacher. What happened to him was unnecessary and cruel and there was no way I could rationalize it. I'd become very good at denial. I was too scared to be outraged on behalf of acquaintances, but _Kreacher_?" Regulus chuckled mirthlessly. "I was furious. I couldn't pretend anymore that the Dark Lord had any respect for me or Father. Or that the Dark Lord's ascent would also mean my own." He shook his head, a shadow of old anger narrowing his eyes. "When I wrote that note in the locket, I felt like Sirius. Brazen and reckless. It felt great. Pointless, but great."

"It wasn't pointless," Harry protested. "I found the note. We'd never have figured it out otherwise."

Andromeda let them talk, too distracted to pay attention. The Horcrux, Regulus' revelations about the war, those all had been fascinating and upsetting, but not a _shock_. No, what had hit her the hardest was that, eighteen years ago, Reggie had _told her._ Told her that a face-to-face conversation with Cissy might be enough to mend things. That this distance between Andromeda and her sisters was a chasm of stubbornness, not one of true hate. And then Andromeda had _forgotten_.

_Had she realized then what she'd made herself forget? Could things have been different? Would Nymphadora have called Cissy 'Aunt'. Would Andromeda and Narcissa have been able to join forces and convince Moody or Dumbledore to hear Sirius out instead of each failing, alone?_

Lyra, clearly used to having a lot of independence, had vanished again, so Andromeda decided to go after the child. She found the girl in the tapestry room, her fingers following the woven threads. Lyra greeted Andromeda with an easy smile._ How long had it been, if ever, since a child had looked so at ease in the ancestral house of Black? _

"I found Appa! _Re-gu-lus_," Lyra sounded out. "Where are you, Amma?"

"I'm on that patch, over there." _Andromeda_, in tiny letters, like _Sirius_, a small piece of fabric magically woven back in, hiding the charred hole beneath it.

"Where am _I_?"

"We're going to have to add you. Hand out your hand. I'm going to need a drop of blood, it won't hurt."

Fascinated, the girl stared as Andromeda whispered _Sirpo Familia Lyra, _the bloodied tip of her wand tracing a line underneath Regulus' name. Golden threads began to weave themselves. _Lyra_.

"What about your mother," Andromeda asked. "What is her name?" Regulus had skirted the question in a way strongly suggested out-of-wedlock mishap.

"Neetu gave birth to me. She couldn't take care of me. Jayanti, Christine and Sanjana were everyone's mamas. The others didn't have a father all to themselves." Lyra took a step back as if to look better at Andromeda, an increasingly smug expression on her face. "And now I have a _whole_ family to myself. Will I soon meet all these people? And where is Kreacher's name?"

She gasped when the house elf popped next to her. Her shock dissolved into laughter. "You scared me! I was talking about you. Where's your name?"

Kreacher shook his head with a tutting noise. "Master Reggie being teaching you nothing. Master Reggie always very bad about house-elf rules. House-elves don't be going on tapestries."

Lyra crouched to be closer to Kreacher's height. "_Why_?"

The sight of the child and the old elf suddenly brought Andromeda back to her childhood, and another elf, one they'd thoughtlessly taken for granted.

"Kreacher, whatever happened to Bean?" Old already when Andromeda had been a teenager, she couldn't possibly be alive today.

"Bean has gone with Cygnus Black to the Americas after Miss Bella being arrested. The bond being dead years ago, but it was no violent breaking." Something stubborn darkened Kreacher's face as he hugged himself. "Bean was a good elf."

"Yes, she was." She'd protected them in her way, and Andromeda had never thought ask _why_.

"You should ask Appa to give you English classes. Your grammar's all wrong."

Kreacher glowered indulgently at Lyra. Andromeda's smile soon died, replaced by a faint shame. "Is that something you'd like, Kreacher?"

It had exasperated Ted when wizards had talked _for_ muggleborns instead of letting them speak for themselves. Perhaps it was high time house-elves too were give a space to _talk_.

* * *

"How did you get a working TV here?" Regulus marveled as Lyra happily plopped a VCR in the recorder.

"It's my job. Ted and I started offering services as spell-crafters and soon realized the people that come to us usually just needed existing spells. Most haven't gone to Hogwarts and don't have personal libraries so we sell them the incantation for a few sickles and recommend a tutor if they needed extra-help to cast it. Some just need us to cast spells for them: household permanent enchantments, basic warding and the like. But some do need spells that don't exist and there's quite a demand for integrating muggle electronics in wizarding dwellings."

"This place isn't some half-blood's new house. You've got permanent enchantments for everything and warded it for a war. How are you making electronics work -"

"I'm just that good, Mr. Black."

Regulus grinned as they settled in the kitchen. "That you are." He shook his head, suddenly more grave. "There something I've been wanting to talk to you about, Meda. Why is Harry Potter_ Lord Black_? Even had he been raised for the role, he's much too young. The Lordship should be yours."

Morgana, that man just _said_ things, didn't he? Sirius had spat in tradition's face when he'd named Harry his heir, but not even Cissy had dared challenge the claim.

"And what would I ever do with such a title?"

Regulus swallowed, looking annoyed. "There was this girl in my year at school, Gladys. We used to argue about the merits of revolution before reform. Her grandmother was a warden in the Order of the Phoenix : Dorcas Meadowes." There was a question there.

One that Andromeda unfortunately could partially answer. "Dorcas was murdered by Voldemort himself in '81. Gladys... I don't know. Cissy will know who to ask.

"Thank you." He shook himself. "Reform didn't happen after the first war and it's not going to happen here unless the people who were in charge, not just a few people up top, but _most_ of the people, are replaced. What happened under Fudge's Ministry cannot be wholly blamed on the Dark Lord. Legally, a Lordship gives power. If only the power to accuse somebody and force a trial. Harry's doing nothing with it."

"How can I expect the boy to? He - "

"He's eighteen! It's not his job to do anything." Regulus rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Meda, you _know_ them, the people who've been sidelined for generations. Shacklebolt, Ogden, Longbottom, Marchbanks, Doge... they're old blood and old money, no matter how decent they may be. Even Arthur Weasley and Sturgis Podmore are from families who've always been close to power or close to those who had it. They support better rights for all mages on principle, but if they fail, their personal lives, their personal privileges, won't be affected. They're too entwined in the system to effectively change it."

"I'm as old blood as they come, for the record." A petty, avoidant answer, but Andromeda was beginning to grasp what her cousin was asking, and viscerally rejected it.

"Elphias Doge replaced Rowle as director of the_ Daily Prophet_, but what of the others? How can we expect truthful, _brave_ journalism from people who were hired _because_ they wrote what the Ministry told them to? What of those who assisted Albert Runcorn in rounding up muggleborn instead of resigning? I'm not advocating for Azkaban, but they can't stay in positions of responsibility. Someone needs to call them out and it has to come from _outside_ of the Ministry, from someone who was never involved and cannot be accused of having also turned a blind eye. And _because_ powerful people will be upset, it needs to be someone who doesn't care that speaking up will brand them a troublemaker."

Andromeda closed her eyes. Regulus' sudden passion grated. She wanted him to _shut up_. He couldn't possibly imagine what it had cost her to carve a life for herself in a country that-

She took a slow breath, forcing herself to calm down, to _have_ the conversation. After all, wasn't that what they blamed the wizarding world for? Muffling the voices of those who had grievances? Wasn't this what she had wanted? To be able to _speak_?

"When I chose freedom, and Ted, I had to make peace with being looked down upon," she admitted after a pause. "I did, and finally I could _live_. I was happy raising my daughter and crafting my spells." She'd gone to _space_, damn it. She regretted nothing. What Regulus was asking... She was dark witch, a Black. Power wasn't good for their sanity. "If I convince myself things can change, that _I_ can... Then I can't ignore it anymore : how so many people that were happy to spit on Umbrige the moment she and Fudge fell out of favor said _nothing_ back when it would have cost them. How everyone was happy to loathe Rita Skeeter when the lies had grown so obvious nobody could deny them, yet somehow nobody thought to ask questions _before_." Death Eaters had gone to Azkaban, there had been a semblance of justice for the war, but for everything that had led to the war -

"You're telling me you're not furious now?" Regulus said gently. "That the reason that medal the Ministry gave Nymphadora is buried in a drawer, as if the Ministry had any right to hand out medals, isn't because you're _furious_?"

The empty chairs slammed against the kitchen counter. One splintered with a _crack_, sending pieces of wood all over the floor. Andromeda unclenched her hand with a wince. She was much too old for uncontrolled magic._ It's just that nobody called her daughter 'Nymphadora'. Only she had._

She blinked at the sight of Kreacher suddenly hovering protectively around Regulus. _When had the house elf appeared?_ "I'm not going to harm him, Kreacher. If I accidentally do, it'll be nothing I can't heal."

The elf glared, arms crossed. "Mistress should fix Reggie's magic. Then Reggie not in danger among wizards."

_Fix his magic._ _As if - _An aggravated sigh left Andromeda's lips as the wards warned her of an apparition.

Harry alarmed and a little disheveled, stared at the three of them. "Uh... Kreacher vanished saying Regulus was..." He blushed and lowered his wand. "Sorry, I got worried."

Regulus put a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Kreacher, how did you know I might be in trouble?" he asked gently.

Kreacher muttered something about a tracing spell that detected magic use and Regulus' distress.

Andromeda frowned. "How are you rooting it? He's a squib."

"Reggie's arm is magic," the elf stiffly answered, staring at his feet like he was struggling not to punish himself. "Kr- _I_ borrowed Master's wand while Master being sleeping."

Her eyes on the transfigured stump, Andromeda found herself at a loss for words. Such magic... oh she could have managed it herself by the time she was sixteen, but... "You should have asked," she said, hating how _surprised_ she was. At what point did ignorance stop being forgivable? "You should also get a wand of your own so you won't feel the need to steal, and you should ask permission before casting such spells on any of us."

Kreacher slumped, looking perilously close to crying. He dared a look at Harry who just nodded. "Sure. I'll go talk to Mr. Ollivanders."

"Master being changing every rule..." the elf muttered. "Reggie safe?"

"Quite, thank you. Go stack Teddy's toys, they're all over his playroom."

Relieved to be given an actual task, Kreacher scurried away.

"So... what was the argument about?" Harry said.

Regulus sighed. "Are you aware that by accepting the Black Lordship, not just on paper, but by changing your magic so you have ownership of the wards at Grimmauld place and all artifacts keyed to the Black bloodline, you're giving up the Potter claim? Well, you have no manor and no Potter house-elves so bloodlines magic might be a moot point, but you're magically disinheriting yourself from your birth family."

No, Harry _hadn't_ been aware. Guilt stirred in Andromeda's chest, but she hadn't found a way to have _that_ conversation. Not with Harry so obviously desperate to be welcomed among them. "What... what's the consequence of that?"

"Any artifacts or tomes keyed to the Potter bloodline will fail to work for you. You're also going to be vulnerable to Black blood curses... not that should be an issue. Lastly, your future children will be able to claim either the Black or their mother's heritage, but not the Potter one, even if they retained the Potter name. Perhaps the most pressing matter is the ownership of the land your grandparents' manor once stood on. Make sure the inheritance clause doesn't lock you out or you'll have to cede it to some cousin."

Harry shook his head, looking overwhelmed. "I... I just wanted to do right by Sirius. I don't care about being _Lord_. I..." Pleading look towards Andromeda. "I thought Teddy would inherit and that any children I'd have would be Potters. I-"

"You're family regardless," obvious, but Andromeda now realized it _had_ to be said. "This is a technicality."

"The legal power given to a Lord is not a technicality." Regulus smiled mirthlessly. "That's what we were arguing about, _Lord Black_. The title gives political rights and privileges that could be used to reform the Isles right now, but it's ridiculous to expect _you_ to do it."

"And tradition would have you Lord." Harry's voice was cool.

Regulus stared. "Me? I'm a squib. Tradition would have me _drowned. _I was telling Meda _she_ should step up and got glowered at."

The consequence of said _glowering_ were still all over the kitchen floor. With a swish of her wand, Andromeda fixed the splintered chair and charmed the furniture back to their places.

Regulus sighed, sitting back down. "You know what struck me the most in India? Muggles, as a society, have faith in the future. They're convinced this generation is building a better, more prosperous world than their grandparents could even imagine. Whereas we, the old pureblood families at least, grow up hearing stories about our glorious ancestors. We mourn how free we were, back when muggles were few and the secrecy not such a burden. Muggles don't care so much about the damage modernity wreaks on old ways of life or the environment, convinced it's an investment, that future technology will fix it all. The Ministry, light and dark mages alike, supported _not teaching magic_ at Hogwarts, afraid of what it could do in disloyal hands." He shook his head in dismay. "There's a reason Dumbledore's Army was created by a muggleborn witch, a muggle-raised wizard and the children of one of the few wizards enthusiastic about muggle progress. You weren't ruined into thinking we must cling to the past or things will only get _worse_."

Andromeda blinked. She'd never quite thought of it that way, but now she realized he was right. It was a thing she'd admired about Ted. His optimism. _What would he think, of her claiming the Lordship? _Oh, he'd have loved it. Their revenge for everything they'd been put through for daring to build a life together. She couldn't even pretend he'd be hurt if she let others address her as _Mrs. Black._

Harry now seemed more curious than upset. "So what would _you_ do?"

* * *

"I realized why I haven't been able to let go of my anger at the Weasleys," Harry said, whispering instinctively despite the silencing spell around Teddy's napping form. "It's because of the Dursleys, mostly."

Andromeda stared. Harry talked of his miserable childhood sparingly, and only because Andromeda never pushed for more when he gave her a morsel. The fact he'd spent the last few days catching up on a year's worth of _Daily Prophet_ editions was unusual, and now _this_ -

"I don't want to think about the Dursleys, because it's not just _them_," Harry said after a pause. "So what if there were blood wards, there was a second guest room. What stopped one of the Order members from living with me and the Dursleys after Cedric died? Except the fact they couldn't bother. Why couldn't I have been given a house elf? The Weasleys didn't know everything, but they knew about the food, about the bars on the window. Even if they didn't believe the Dursleys hated me, they knew _I_ hated it. Everyone could tell when I started Hogwarts that I was as ignorant as any muggleborn and knew nothing about my own parents. And they decided it was... regrettable, I guess, but what did they _do_? It was fine that I never asked questions. Saved them awkwardness, I guess. These... these people who said they _cared_ for me. So what does it mean?"

He took a shaky breath.

"What does it mean that Dumbledore gave me house points, so many house points, for risking my life again and again. How could he tell me it wasn't my job to save people, that _adults_ were around, when everybody's actions showed otherwise? The only adult who actually saved my life was _Snape." _Anger thickened his sudden chuckles. "It's _easy_ to forgive Snape because he never pretended to give a damn. I... I never expected anything from him, and it turns out he was messed up but brave, you know? So it's _easy_."

"You're upset because you're at peace with Severus Snape but not with, say, Remus?"

"Yeah... Remus forgot his Wolfsbane that night in third year and decided I had to hate _him_. He was so certain that I wouldn't forgive him for not revealing that Sirius was an animagus even when he believed Sirius wanted to kill me... He was so certain of so many things because he never bothered to get to know me." Harry shrugged, and it was like he'd wiped away the anger, leaving only sadness. "It's... he still made me Teddy's godfather, but... I can't help thinking it's because of Dad and Sirius, and because he had nobody else."

"Remus was depressed after the Order suspected him of treason during the first war. All his life he... Some people carry baggage so heavy that the way they treat you is very little about _you_. As for Albus Dumbledore, I'm sure he'd expected to care for you a lot less than he actually did."

Harry's smile was bitter. "Narcissa told me that when Sirius broke out of prison, Fudge and his people had already started trying to get Professor Dumbledore out of the way."

"Then it must be true." Andromeda didn't doubt Lucius Malfoy had been among _his people_ then. It wasn't _evil_ that had destroyed them all, but selfishness, greed and cowardice.

"The only person who would have looked bad in '93 had Sirius' innocence been proven was _Dumbledore_, and Crouch, I guess, but not Fudge and his people. They'd had nothing to do with Sirius' imprisonment. Dumbledore didn't need _Pettigrew_. He just needed to own the cock up and keep Voldemort's return out of it, just focus on Sirius' innocence. But that would have cost him his positions, except maybe the Headmaster one..." Harry took a sharp breath and Andromeda was struck by how much the young man had grown in the last year. Gone was the kid who had no clue who he was now that Voldemort, his fated nemesis, was dead.

"Albus told me I was 'the better man'," Harry continued gloomily."I can't imagine how hard it was for him, to make all the decisions he had to make, and I don't hate him, I admire him most of the time, but I'm still angry."

"I think he'd be happy to hear it. Anger at having being mistreated can be a sign of self-esteem."

Harry chuckled ruefully. "Right. I've got loads of that these days then." Unexpectedly, he stepped forward and grabbed Andromeda's hands. "Regulus is right. You should be Lord Black and we need to talk to people."

"Harry-"

"Lee Jordan did amazing stuff on the wireless during the war... We should round up some muggleborn, half-bloods, werewolves, squibs, poor purebloods who never went to Hogwarts, hear _them_ out." He smiled fondly. "If Hermione was a bit more outgoing and a bit less of a studier she'd probably have that covered already... Guess she dived in her NEWTs year because it's... safe. Studying is what she's good at."

"You feel up to being in the spotlight again?"

Harry's eyes darkened. "I've caught up with the papers. They're really eager to move on from the war, aren't they? And even more eager to forget everything that happened _before_. It's all roses and marshmallows and everybody is working very hard to make things _better_."

Cynicism stole the warmth from Andromeda's smile. _Roses and marshmallows_, indeed. Full of praise for the brave warriors, full of apologies and excuses. Very light on any kind of true reckoning (except of course for the evil _evil_ Death Eaters).

"Some people who bought spells from Ted and I would have a lot to tell you. Julia also knows a lot of interesting people, and the werewolves trust her."

She and Remus' mother had a relationship that could be called cautiously warm. Julia knew that Andromeda had been fiercely hostile to Remus during the last months of the war and Andromeda would not apologize for it. Remus had been a mess of guilt with an inferiority complex, and had let the Order bully him _again_, into serving as envoy to the werewolves instead of having him do any of the dozens of things a smart, competent wizard had been desperately needed for. He'd been in no way fit to be in _any_ relationship, and had not even had the courage to tell Nymphadora 'I don't want to be with you', instead hiding for months and months behind 'I'm not good enough for you'. Not that it had stopped them from having sex... And the way the man had reacted when he'd gotten her daughter with child -.

She must have been making a face, because Harry's eyes were crinkling. Andromeda swallowed back her resentment. Nymphadora had been young enough to believe _love_ could fix Remus. She'd loved the challenge presented by this man who looked at her in wonder, and no doubt their push-and-pull dance had fueled the passion with pent-up desire. If it hadn't been _war_, Andromeda would have just watched amused as her daughter navigated this tumultuous relationship, but the war had been a time where Nymphadora had needed support more than anything, and Andromeda couldn't help suspecting that Remus had drained her instead.

"Tonks was an adult, she made the choice because it was worth it to her."

"I know," Andromeda snapped, but it held no bite. It was embarrassing to be so transparent. "I let her take him back, didn't I?" As if she truly could have stopped her stubborn daughter anyway.

"I need to visit someone in Azkaban before I talk to anybody else. I... I want Arthur to come with us."

"Arthur?" _Azkaban? _

"Molly makes me feel like a kid," Harry admitted, his cheeks reddening. "But they deserve to be part of this. I want them to be. I'm tired of pushing them away."

* * *

"You're _joking_," Harry blurted, his voice echoing in the too-small space. "So the Browns have been writing fashion and style at the _Prophet_ for _four_ generations. Nobody who isn't a Rowle, Travers or Yaxley have been directing the papers since the _eighteenth_ century. Nobody who isn't a Fawley, a Goldstein or a Mulciber has been in charge of international affairs reporting for over _two hundred_ years."

Andromeda had to grin at the young man's outrage. _Welcome to wizarding Britain, Harry Potter. _Next to her, Arthur looked ashamed, as if nepotism was _his_ fault. Merlin, the man was too sensitive for his own good.

"Why do you think I worked so hard?" Rita Skeeter said with a fierce smile. Her once curly blond hair was lank and her perfect posture couldn't make up for her tired face and overlarge lackluster clothes.

Azkaban without dementors was not a nightmare, but a prison it remained. Their visit was taking place in a repurposed cell. There was no window, only a slit under the ceiling to let the salty air in. The dark stone walls swallowed most of torches' magical light. They sat on cold metal chairs rooted into the ground, as if in fear of prisoners using one as a weapon against their visitors.

"The _Daily Prophet_ has always been an instrument of power and control," Skeeter continued. When she'd realized Harry wasn't here for revenge but to interview her, she'd gone from wary to gleeful. "I wasn't a part of the clique, so I needed to prove I was the most loyal."

"Just working hard?" Although Andromeda had to grant that Skeeter could _write_. Her articles had always been page turners.

The former journalist smirked. "That article on Ludo Bagman never did get published. Nor did the one on Yaxley's nephew... Still, I got my point across. They knew that once they hired me, I'd have no incentive to blackmail them. Too much to lose." She smiled at Harry. "You don't think you could get my daughter to visit me more often? I'm allowed once every other week. She's seven and I'm her only parent, it's hard for her."

Harry's sudden unease betrayed his age, and his soft heart.

"We came to interview you," Arthur intervened smoothly, "about who told you to write what, who spoke out against the lies and who didn't, and what the consequences were."

"Harry, Harry, Harry, what are you doing!" Skeeter exclaimed, looking absolutely delighted. "Do you want enemies now?"

"I just want the truth."

"Nobody wants _the truth_," Skeeter scoffed. "And you'll need more than a couple of parchments if you want more than a skeleton summary."

"That's for the most important things." Andromeda handed over a small machine to the wandless witch. "This is a recorder, you can speak to it in your cell. You can also use it to record for messages to your daughter if you wish to, we'll give those to her."

Skeeter lost her smile and gave Andromeda a hard stare. "Are you going to allow _all_ parents to record messages? Or am I special?" She turned to Harry with a honeyed smile. "I'm used to a world were some are _special_. Is the new world to be the same, only with _you_ in charge?"

Andromeda put her hand on Harry's arm before he could stutter a promise to give _everyone_ a recorder. He straightened and took a slow breath. "Actually, I don't know what the new world will be like. It's not for me to decide. But for people to collectively decide, we need to know the truth and we need to give everyone a chance to speak."

"Oh Merlin, a democrat. Like my mother likes to say, _bless you_. What if the majority wants muggleborn wiping their floors and massaging their feet?"

"I don't believe that," Arthur said gravely. "Most people don't care enough about muggleborn to fight for them, but they do not wish them ill."

Harry still looked flustered but Andromeda just smiled thinly. She was used to provocation. "Harry might change his mind about how democratic he wants to be when everyone will have spoken, but that's none of your concern, Miss Skeeter. Why don't you tell us your story?"

Skeeter looked torn between needling them further and finally getting a chance to speak ill of her former colleagues. The woman clasped her hands in her lap and took a slow breath.

"I spent _years_ submitting articles for a few galleons and watching them put my name in tiny print behind theirs, as if they'd done all the work. I pitched in articles about Quidditch stars, upcoming politicians, minor celebrities. Juicy gossip_, _scandal, whatever it took to be _read._ It was such a triumph when _finally_ they hired me. Still, we were second class, me, our Agony Aunt Belinda, Lowell at arts, and Warren, the only other half-blood, who wrote the spells column... Until Fudge demanded someone who could sell to the public that you and Dumbledore were frauds. Rowle realized he needed _me_. Finally, I could afford to buy a house."

"Was Rowle the only one who read what you wrote before it was published?"

"No, Rowle had the final word, but the chief editor, Eliana Goldstein, checked everything."

Harry shot Arthur a look. The wizard nodded minutely. Goldstein was indeed still at the _Prophet_. Rowle had been heavily fined and disgraced, but only Rita Skeeter, the high-profile name, the half-blood, had gotten six years in Azkaban.

"For the sake of a good story, let's start about the article you wrote after the mass breakout from Azkaban before the war."

Skeeter's grin was positively feral. "Funny you'd ask about _that_ one, Mrs. Tonks."

* * *

"We have no idea how trustworthy her account is," Arthur said, disturbed by the sheer amount of people Skeeter's tale implicated.

"No," Harry agreed as they sat on the grass in Hampstead Heath, enjoying the heat and their anonymity among muggles. "We just want a start a conversation. Everyone she named will be free to answer and defend themselves. I'll interview them myself if I must. Luna agreed to print it in a special Quibbler edition." He straightened, suddenly solemn. "There's a last thing I wanted to discuss with you today, Arthur."

"Anything."

Harry winced, but Andromeda couldn't blame the wizard for acting _careful_ around Harry these days. Poor Arthur had no way to know why Harry's attitude towards him had suddenly changed for the better (oh, it hadn't been sudden at all, but from the outside...).

"If you had the power to make a trial happen, who would you try?"

Arthur blinked. "A few names come to mind. Why?"

"Because the new Lady Black is going to flex her legal rights."

"I said I wanted to think about it," Andromeda hissed, blindsided. Bloody Regulus, and bloody _Harry_ for being on board with this instead of clinging to the title. _'I want to stay a Potter, I know my parents would be proud either way, but this feels right. Narcissa told me there's a ritual that can get me spouse-status to still have access to Grimmauld Place's wards and everything without magically being Black.' _Bloody Cissy.

Harry looked entirely unabashed. "You know the muggle saying _'you're going to have to put your money where your mouth is' _?"

_Touché. _"I do," Andromeda said, a smile quirking her lips. So _this_ was the price to pay for having shared her critical opinions of the new Ministry with Cissy and Harry. "But you-"

"Be honest, Arthur," Harry cut in, "what do you think of me being Lord Black?"

Arthur bit back a smile and shot Andromeda an apologetic look. "There's enough you can already do as _Harry Potter_. Andromeda's better equipped to wield the double-edged blade that is a Lordship than you are. And she'll be the one stuck with the political drudgery, not you."

_Bloody Arthur Weasley. _But, Morgana, Andromeda couldn't deny that she was excited. To walk into the Wizengamot's halls as if she _belonged_...

_Are you watching Uncle Orion, do you see this?_ Perhaps she should encourage Harry to recover the Resurrection Stone, just to see the man's face.

* * *

**Author's note :**

**Okay, who saw that coming?^^ I won't make the end of this story about reforming wizarding institutions (too many OCs, too much speculation with little to go on from canon, and not all that fun), but I wanted to explore how Harry and Andromeda could realistically affect how things were after the war. **

**Next chapter will bring us back to Hogwarts (but not in the way you think^^) **

** Paul. Thanks for the TV Tropes' page. I'm truly honored. **


	27. N: Minerva's Offer

**July 1999 – a year after the end of the second Wizarding War**

_"Welcome to this special airing of _Our New World_. I'm here today in heather moorland with Auror Captain Hestia Jones, Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office, Narcissa Malfoy, and Harry Potter himself. It's chilly here, as things tend to get when you have a dozen starved dementors in a warded enclosure less than twenty yards away."_

Lee Jordan's voice boomed through radio stations scattered in thousand of British homes. Because of lingering public distrust in the _Daily Prophet_, most mages had taken to tuning in to _Our New World_ every evening at 8 PM.

_"As you all know, we decided that rewarding dark creatures who'd happily become Riddle's attack hounds by giving them access to an increased number of prisoners, for the second time in less than twenty years, was pretty stupid,"_ Lee cheerfully said. _"Thanks to Harry and Narcissa -and you should see that pointed look I just got for using her first name. I do like to live dangerously- we now are able to destroy those soul-sucking, happiness-destroying, horrid-memories-awakening wraiths. And you know what? That is _awesome!_"_

_"I hope you all did your homework. The recap for dummies is that dementors are not quite in the present time, and not quite in our physical plane. I mean, most of you must have noticed it's hard to munch on _feelings_. And that trick they use to fill your mind with your worst memories? It's similar to time-turner magic. Bottom line, normal spells don't hit them because they're designed to strike here and now, whereas dementors fade between cracks of time. And if that sounds disturbing, it's because it bloody well is."_

Beneath the boisterous tone, no-one could mistake the very serious undercurrent to Lee's commentary. This was River, former host of Potterwatch, whose fierce commitment to the free flow of information had not waned after Voldemort's fall.

_"And they've begun! It's... interesting because it just looks like regular old ward crafting. We're starting to feel the first effects : no more unnatural chill and the grass beneath the dementors is now a puddle instead of an ice-ring."_ Lee sucked in a breath_. "Oy, Harry! Explain to us what's the deal with dementors making things freeze!"_

_"They disturb time itself."_ There was no mistaking the contained hate in Harry's slightly breathless voice. _"Everything close to them slows, and slowing down things makes them freeze. To use your words, the cold is gone because we've dragged them fully_ here and now_."_

_"Brilliant!" _Lee whistled. _"Folks, instead of twelve angry-looking dementors floating behind wards, I have twelve dementors on the ground. Like giant beached sea-monsters, except with cloaks. They're pinned down by a weighted net. The net's shimmering with light, it sort of reminds me of a patronus."_

_"So now you destroy the wraiths,"_ Mafalda Hopkirk breathed from somewhere behind Lee.

_"Here and now, they're no more resistant than an average body. Confringo!"_

The crunch of shattering bones that followed Harry's incantation did not need to be commented. Sudden silence, broken only by wind and magical static filled the stations.

_"The dementors are trapped in a noise-cancelling dome,"_ Lee said, subdued amazement lowering his voice. _"They're being destroyed, one by one."_

_"It looks like they're screaming,"_ Hopkirk said, her voice trembling slightly.

_"Twelve gone, two hundred to go,"_ Lee said cheerfully after a tense pause. _"Captain, are you confident your aurors can master such a spell?"_

_"Quite,"_ Hestia replied._ "The blasting curse is standard, and the dark component of the anchoring ritual is not more concerning than many legal healing spells."_

_"Healing requires some accommodations,"_ Hopkirk said hesitantly, _"but use of Dark Arts for _destructive _purposes..."_

_"I'm no expert, Ma'am,"_ Lee cut in amiably,_ "but it looked like all the destruction was done by the blasting curse. The ritual was just a hook of sorts. It's hope-fueled, right? Like those searching and scrying spells of old."_

_"It is, Mr. Jordan,"_ Narcissa agreed. _"And it's not a spell that will ever know widespread, daily use. You don't have to worry about it marking the beginning of a generation of dark wizards, Ms. Hopkirk."_

_"You nevertheless have readily admitted to wanting to rehabilitate Dark Arts."_

_"You guys need to stop being scared of magic."_ Harry's voice held none of the patience or mildness that Narcissa's did.

_"Mr. Potter, how can you of all people -"_

_"Come on, at eighteen, Fred and George Weasley enchanted shielding cloaks that revealed themselves to be stronger protection than what most adult mages can cast. That's _sad_. The Ministry was at the time _very keen _on making sure the whole of Hogwarts had no practical Defense Against the Dark Arts knowledge. Are you scared such spells may fall into _disloyal _hands, Madam Hopkirk?"_

"This hostility is uncalled for," Hopkirk protested. "Dark Arts are dangerous -"

_"Dark Arts are dangerous when misused, like any kind of power," _Harry snapped. _"But I don't hear you arguing against a Ministry. Money breeds greed and corruption, yet nobody's fighting for equal distribution of wealth. You know, Ginny, Luna and Hermione together were a match against Bellatrix Lestrange during the Battle of Hogwarts. They're brilliant, but they're also teenage witches who'd been practicing advanced defense, as in extra-credit NEWTs stuff, nothing _arcane_, for less than a couple of years. _Anybody _can do that if they bother to try."_

_"Harry suggests that instead of viewing all powerful magic with suspicion, everybody should make the effort to improve their skills, to craft their own spells. With such knowledge, you'd no doubt find all this a lot less intimidating."_

_"If you say so, Mrs. Malfoy."_ There was no mistaking Hopkirk's skepticism.

_"We'd have buried less people -"_ Harry's angry reply was abruptly cut off, as if someone had kicked him.

_"Many have argued that they were helpless."_ Narcissa said her voice cool but calm. _"Well, we _made _ourselves so, by choosing, collectively, to prize many things over magical proficiency. Most Death Eaters weren't remarkably powerful, nor the spells they used particularly obscure."_

_"Not obscure for someone born to a family that clung to the old ways, no doubt. You were born in the family in which _Bellatrix _learned to craft spells."_

_"True."_ Narcissa acknowledged mildly. _"But by choosing to stay ignorant, you're exposing yourself to being powerless next time someone decides the Isles are theirs to conquer. I have made many mistakes. I am tired of making mistakes. Our children deserve better."_

_"Valuing power above all else was You Know Who's -"_

_"See, this is part of the problem!"_ Harry was clearly struggling not to shout._ "You're looking for flaws in every single thing we say. You didn't come here to listen. You came to prove us like you didn't win the war. You barely even fought it."_

_"Mr. Potter -"_

_"Worse, you did your damnedest to make it hard for _us _to fight. Defense classes for adults, with a transparent curriculum, supervised by Ministry officials, aren't what Voldemort meant when he said only power mattered so why are you even _suggesting _that it is?"_

Lee Jordan's smooth voice took over. _"Folks, let me say that Harry Potter has a lot less patience than Narcissa Malfoy when faced with... disagreement, but that nothing more intimidating than some fierce scowling is going on. Wands are sheathed, fists aren't clenched and everyone is standing a respectable distance from each other."_

_"This is our future, Lee,"_ Harry hissed. _"Not a debate club. Ms. Hopkirk has held her position for thirty years. We chose to give her chance, value her experience over the fact that she, for _years_, valued her job over doing what was right. We decided to believe that when you're not coerced, Ma'am, you can do good, honest work. So now, I will definitely hold you responsible for every choice you make, just like you hold me responsible every time I open my bloody mouth."_

_"Mr. Potter you are being emotional. I only-"_

_"Perhaps if caring was not considered a flaw, things would have been different,"_ Narcissa cut in._ "Note that I say this _without _emotion, as I was raised under the old regime."_

"_Mafalda_," Hestia Jones intervened, "_whereas you speak of Dark Arts in the abstract, in terms of policy, Harry remembers the feel of a dementor attack. He recalls his godfather, stripped of a lifetime's worth of happy memories. He believes that you are arguing that Dark Arts use is more concerning than such suffering, than all the people whose lives were destroyed by dementors. All the people who died under the wands of Death Eaters._"

"_No_," Hopkirk spluttered, "_I never said -_"

_"Alright folks,"_ Lee said as the silence grew uncomfortable. _"As usual things aren't cut and dry. How about we all go our ways, take the rest of the afternoon to digest this. I'll be to be taking questions for the next hour, so floo them in, call one of our house elves or come directly to us in Diagon Alley. I'll be of course sending a recap of our discussions over to the Prophet's office, and I'll be sure to comment anything published on the topic at 8pm on the day it comes out. Don't forget to tune in to _Our New World_!"_

Harry groaned as soon as he and Narcissa had apparated back in Grimmauld Place.

"I'm pants at this! I wanted to throttle her. Hestia's right though, Hopkirk is worried about precedent and policy and not _purposefully_ being a pain. If I can't talk people like her without losing it-"

"The argument was good for her and everybody listening," Narcissa soothingly said. "She's in a position of power, nobody can afford her to stay removed from reality and peoples' concerns. She's been surrounded for decades by mid-level officials who shuddered at the idea of Dark Arts. Before today, I'm not sure she realized that people that she doesn't consider criminals may hold different views."

Harry huffed. "Change is _so_ slow. Can't anybody _else_ do her job?"

A rhetorical question. Morals and good ideas unfortunately did not make one a good administrator. Mafalda Hopkirk was strikingly efficient and not a bad person. A Ministry of Magic that required the brilliant and heroic to run it, lest Britain fall into chaos, was a defective Ministry. A healthy system was one that was a success when manned by mostly average witches and wizards, with the occasional exceptional talent.

"Our spell worked," Narcissa pointedly said.

Harry matched her smile with a broad grin. "It _did_! Shame we can't reform the Ministry with a few hexes."

* * *

Narcissa held her breath as she walked through Hogwarts' empty green grounds. Fifteen months after the Battle of Hogwarts, the scars left by the war were now only visible to those who knew where to look : chipped stones yet to be repaired, temporary windows that didn't quite match the others, saplings where once had stood proud trees.

The late July morning was still young, and students and staff were away for the summer. Narcissa slipped through the ajar front gates and into the side corridors.

Immediately, the silence was broken by the chatter and bickering of portraits. Many canvases were empty, odd considering how uncomfortably crowded the rest were. Narcissa frowned when she realized that, while beautifully crafted, the empty canvases had to have been added after the war. The wood and metal had that shine of newness.

"Our portraits have... high standards. Modern frames are beneath them."

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress since the end of the war, greeted her with a bow of her head.

The exasperation in the older witch's tone tore a small smile from Narcissa. "Did you expect any less from portraits inhabiting the most prestigious locations in Britain?"

"Well, they're going to have to wait another year at least for the artists to repair the originals."

McGonagall led Narcissa to the inner courtyard of the castle's ground floor and invited her to sit on a stone bench in a shaded area. Her letter had not said why she wanted to see Narcissa, only something vague about Hogwarts' future.

And so her request took Narcissa wholly by surprise.

"But I'm not a teacher," Narcissa said once she was certain she'd not misheard. "I... I do like children, but -."

"There is a dearth of qualified teachers, so I have to settle for talent, potential and good intentions," which would have been a nice compliment had it not been said so sharply, "and I also want you as Head of Slytherin House."

_Defense and Head of House? Was that _all_?_ "Am I not too... controversial?"

"Hogwarts is, it_ must be_, a school. Not a covert battleground. Slytherin has been vilified for decades and this vilification has encouraged the worst in too many students. You will know how to talk to the Slytherins better than any of the current staff. And you are proof no one is a prisoner of their blood or upbringing." There was no hostility in the Headmistress's words, on the contrary, Narcissa was stunned to see a certain desperation. McGonagall _cared_, and she truly seemed to think Narcissa might be a solution. "If teaching is not for you, then that gives me another year to find and train somebody else. The children are now used to seeing new faces."

_A professor. Her._ "Any new faces I know?"

"Yes. Bill Weasley began coordinating the repairs of the Room of Requirements in the Spring and managed to banish Binns, so he's taking over History." The Headmistress' crinkled eyes belied her stern tone. Narcissa had also heard of Binn's 'accidental' banishment. "He's also Head of Gryffindor, at least until I find someone suitable who accepts to live in the castle."

"Could I take part in the repairs of the room?"

Minerva's thin smile was ruthless. "Only if you accept the job."

Hogwarts did not easily reveal its enchantments to those who hadn't proven themselves to it, but if Narcissa became staff... "It does make the offer more tempting."

"I must do all I can, mustn't I? Amos Diggory applied for transfigurations after refusing all of Kingsley's attempts to lure him back to the Ministry. I am cautiously optimistic he might become a permanent member of staff. He will take the first, 5th, 7th and half of the 4th years, while Hermione Granger will take the rest."

"_Granger_?"

McGonagall chortled. "Oh that girl won't be staying three years. She... I'm having her handle some deputy tasks along with Filius. I want her comfortable with the new board of directors and the Ministry. So when she leaves, she'll be as prepared as any-"

"Well-born witch?" McGonagall's lips thinned in distaste, but Narcissa had no problem saying it. Yes, Lord Voldemort was dead but society had barely begun to change. If Hermione wanted to get into politics, she would need some grooming.

"She understands the magic, she's matured enough to realize she needs more time to understand the people. We need people like her at the Ministry, but she has still has a lot to learn."

And clearly, Narcissa would get her head chewed off if she said a cross word about Hermione Granger. Changing the subject seemed wise.

"Harry doesn't seem too apprehensive about mixing with the other seventh years."

Minerva smiled, some of the worry lifting from her lined face. "I'm glad. I've worked the time-tables so he'll be free when you're teaching the fifth and sixth years. I believe seeing the two of you work together will do the students good."

"Horace has agreed to stay another year?"

"Part-time only, he's mentoring Ian Redclove who will be our sole Potions teacher from next year on. He was Slytherin, perhaps you remember him?"

Narcissa nodded slowly. "The half-blood in Regulus' year. He was good, academically."

"Quite. Very determined to prove he was _better_ than his better-born housemates. He's not... Severus, but he is indeed a _good _potioneer and he's quite a remarkable teacher. He was a senior instructor of the healers' training program at Saint Mungo's. He's also married to a Hufflepuff. It cannot hurt to show the children that people can take different paths."

No. And it was nice to see that Hogwarts still hired Slytherins to teach.

"Our last newcomer is Penelope Clearwater. She applied for defense last year but she's better suited for charms, Flitwick has had her shadow him and she's now taking the second through fourth years so he has more time for his deputy and Head of House duties." McGonagall caught Narcissa's frown. "Ravenclaw class of 94. Prefect. _Muggleborn_. "

Ah. Hence the unfamiliar name. "I hear they're not all bad. My sister married one of those. He'd not even made Prefect..."

That tore a smile from the older witch. "Penny's finding her footing still, but she'll be a great teacher." The smile died. "_Controversy _will be inevitable_. _I had parents question Bill Weasley's presence. They were concerned his scars were a too vivid reminder of the war for the students."

_Oh. Wow. _"You kept your cool?"

"Absolutely," McGonagall said frostily. "I calmly answered they were free to not send their children to Hogwarts."

Laughing softly, Narcissa pulled a small envelope out of her robes. "I have something for you, Headmistress."

Inside the envelope was a photograph of a sunset taken from Hogwarts' roofs. In the foreground, a tabby cat stared not-quite at the camera, her demeanor both stern and indulgent.

"There's a message on the back. He told me to tell you it's your fault."

_'Thanks for giving me the kick in the ass I needed to go after that Horcrux. RAB.'_

"I remember that sunset..." McGonagall whispered. "Glad to be useful." She sighed, her eyes suddenly pleading. "Narcissa... You won't be a worse Head of House than I was."

The sudden guilt in her old professor's tone was... baffling. "Truly, you consider that you failed?"

"I kept my door open, but I foolishly expected them to come to me. Some did. Many did not and I should have gone to them. Teenagers cannot be expected to figure out the world without any guidance."

"I don't remember Slughorn offering much guidance outside the Slug Club either."

"And you do not think you would have benefited from a positive adult presence at Hogwarts?"

Anger stirred as could-have-beens brushed Narcissa's mind, ghosts of three sisters who'd only ever had each other until even that had fallen apart. "You're right, we must do better. But you're also too old to carry around such guilt. It's bad for your heart. Look at what your Gryffindors achieved _without_ you. Now, they'll be unstoppable."

McGonagall's lips pinched. "I do admire your ability to bounce back." Nevertheless, the flush to her cheeks betrayed it had been the right thing to say.

"I suspect many students will be quick to remind me they haven't forgiven my crimes."

"Yes." Clearly, McGonagall had not forgiven either, but Narcissa was touched by her willingness to extend her trust. "My hope is that your presence will help them come to terms with the beautiful complexity of our world."

_The beautiful complexity indeed._

_Her. A teacher. Head of House._ Suddenly, fiercely, Narcissa missed Severus. He'd been so overwhelmed when he'd started. There was so much she now wanted to ask him.

"I don't expect you to teach seven year levels and take on house duties alone. There were three other promising applicants for the Defense position. My idea was to you let you choose who to work with."

McGonagall had clearly mistaken her turmoil for nerves.

"I remember him striding through the Manor as he was wont to do," Narcissa said softly, "his robes billowing behind him, telling me Albus Dumbledore had to really hate Slytherins to name him Head of House. Morgana, that man could complain about his students."

"You should have heard them complain about _him_," McGonagall's light tone was betrayed by the haunted look in her eyes. She stood up. "There's something you should see. In my office."

* * *

A portrait of Severus Snape hung among a dozen others on one of the round office's stone walls. His eyes were closed, as if sleeping upright. Brushstrokes in the background showed the outline of a potions' lab, and, oddly enough, a pensieve.

"I'm not sure if he's sleeping because the portrait isn't finished, or to aggravate me. For the first year, the portrait was black, then he appeared, his back to me. His face has only been visible for a few months now."

"How?" Narcissa breathed. "Who painted him?"

"In Hogwarts no painter seems to be needed. The frame just suddenly... was."

Eyes bright, Narcissa stared at her friend. The curtain of lanky raven hair he hid behind, the sheen of potion fumes clinging to his skin and hair, those long black robes that would have looked stern already in a man twice his age.

"Mrs. Malfoy, my greetings."

Narcissa snapped towards the voice. Her eyes narrowed at the bearded man in colorful robes, a multitude of conflicting emotions forcing her to take a slow breath. She didn't answer, turning to the living witch beside her instead.

"Is he the Albus Dumbledore you know?" _Will Severus be the man I remember?_

The Headmistress was suddenly hard to read. "Albus looked to the future. His portrait is a treasure of memories but it does not make plans. He is only what he gave to Hogwarts : Albus the Transfigurations Professor, and Albus the Headmaster. Albus the leader of the Order, Albus the Supreme Mugwump... those are lost to us." A wistful smile softened Minerva's eyes. "When he speaks of his years here, of his love for Hogwarts and her secrets, yes, I recognize him."

"But... Harry told me this portrait instructed Severus during the war."

"Albus had a year to prepare for his death, I think his portrait was a little _more_ than it should have been. But with the war over, that purpose seems to be gone."

"Were you two able to talk?" _He manipulated you_, Narcissa didn't say. _He robbed you of the chance to say goodbye._

The silence grew as McGonagall remained silent. Albus-the-portrait suddenly busied himself with a sweet.

"Not to my satisfaction," McGonagall finally said. "Albus was human, fallible, ruthless and overworked. He was brilliant and the most driven man I knew. I never doubted that he tried his best. We put him on a pedestal and to protect us, he let us. We were complacent about not challenging him because we didn't want the responsibility." _I have many regrets. _She didn't have to say. _I still love him. _

Narcissa turned back towards Severus' portrait. There was even that burn scar on his left thumb, the one he'd acquired it making a breakthrough on Wolfsbane and had always worn like a badge of pride.

Who was Severus without the war? The _wars_. Severus as Headmaster only made sense in a world where Hogwarts had failed to stay a school. Even Severus the Teacher had been a man shackled by his regrets. The best of Severus, _her_ Severus, was the wizard excited about potions and spells, the man who even after twenty years still struggled to hide his pleasure at being welcomed and treated like an equal in the halls of Malfoy Manor. The friend who had never once held the Unbreakable Vow she'd asked of him against her.

Narcissa had to look away, tears rolling out of her eyes. The portrait would be better than nothing: History would not be allowed to forget him now. The Headmaster who should never have been. The Headmaster without whom they would have been lost.

* * *

_'There is something else I would like you to do.'_

They called Slytherin the house of the ambitious, but Gryffindors could wield their principles with just as much ruthlessness. Tentatively accepting McGona- _Minerva'_s offer had only led to more demands.

After the war, Gregory Goyle and Theodore Nott had been sent to Azkaban for use of Unforgivables, but only for a year, because of their youth, the pressure exerted by the Carrows, and circumstances. The other students who'd cast the cruciatus on their schoolmates had failed to muster enough intent to make the curse powerful enough to cause the typical after-effects, and so had avoided prison. Davies, Greengrass, Zabini and Bulstrode had returned to Hogwarts the year before, stubbornly determined to show that Slytherin House wasn't condemned to stay the enemy.

Pansy Parkinson, had not come back.

As Narcissa walked among the wild growth of the unkempt garden of the loftily named _Parkinson Palace_, she wistfully recalled the little girl awed into silence by the Great Halls of Malfoy Manor. A little girl who would have been absolutely mortified by the state her house was in now.

In the eighteenth century, condemned to strip the crumbling historical Parkinson manor of its enchantments and sell it to muggle nobility, the impoverished Parkinsons had built a large house of moorish inspiration. At the time, many Noble and Ancient houses had thought to disguise their family's decline with eccentricity. The two-storey white building, with its arches and graceful inner courtyard had undeniably been beautiful. Now, the facades were darkened by humidity and neglect.

Pansy had been a bright-eyed child who'd followed Narcissa everywhere, with her best smiles and manners, desperate for approval.

_'I must have been wonderful, to grow up here,' _the girl, perhaps eight then, had once said.

_'I didn't. I moved here when I married Lucius.'_

After that, Pansy had followed Draco everywhere.

Dianthus Parkinson was an even-tempered man fascinated by clockwork mechanisms and History. He was mine of knowledge on seafaring and the great explorations. The last he had shared with Lucius, who'd enjoyed trying to piece together facts from fiction in the Malfoy's family's journals. Dianthus was also one of those awkward men who did not know what to do with children except give them gifts. Never strong-willed, he'd always failed to stand up to his parents, and later, his wife. It was this lack of spine that had once made him, in Cygnus and Druella's eyes, a prized suitor for their daughters.

Patricia was the fourth child from a Nott branch so minor she'd been mostly ignored by good society. Clearly, being overlooked had burned, and Patricia had grown into a stunning woman, willful, and viciously ambitious. What she'd failed to achieve for herself, she wanted for her daughter. A daughter she never forgave for not being beautiful, for not being academically gifted, for not being _perfect_.

Pansy would stare, until she was old enough to know better, when Draco slowed past Narcissa, and tilted his head to demand a kiss or a caress. He'd grin at her, her boy, and Narcissa would smile back.

_"Mother knows what's best for me," _Pansy answered firmly, aged eleven, the day Narcissa felt the need to take the child aside, and tell her her mother was being too harsh.

Narcissa had made a point to come every month since Patricia and her father-in-law, the former Lord Parkinson (a man who loathed the Dark Lord for having made him a slave, but who'd expressed his rage and powerlessness through cruelty against muggles and mages, and that was not forgiven), had been sentenced to Azkaban. Dianthus, who had never taken part in Death Eater activities, had been merely heavily fined. Pansy had shut down after the war, and seeing Narcissa grow happier had only increased the chasm between them. Still Narcissa had come, staying away from big conversations and teaching the young woman household charms (which Meda had taught her. With house elves, Narcissa had never felt the need to learn).

The inner wards were locked. Narcissa enchanted a piece of parchment and sent it flying for the house._ 'It's Narcissa, please let me in.'_

"Yes, I've grown fat," a disheveled Pansy in casual, almost frumpy, robes tersely said. Shame clouded her eyes, and she looked like she'd rather not have opened, only, she'd never been able to say no to Narcissa.

"I'm not Patricia. You're fine."

"That sounds rather hollow, coming from the most beautiful woman I know."

Narcissa's faint smile didn't reach her eyes.

Pansy looked away. "Come in, Lady Malfoy," she muttered. "You really shouldn't have bothered."

"We need to talk about your future. And about this wrong impression you have about not having one."

A mirthless, incredulous smile bared Pansy's teeth. "This is worse than when you came because Draco wanted to make sure I didn't do anything stupid, but couldn't be arsed to say so in his letters..."

"Enough."

The young woman's anger was instantly washed out, replaced by a stiff mask of forced politeness.

"Father lets me be as moody as a wish," Pansy muttered bitterly. The witch was nineteen, well into young adulthood, and yet Narcissa suddenly saw a teenager desperate for boundaries and guidance.

The house was a mess. Kept clean by lingering enchantments, but everything from books, plates and clothes were strewn haphazardly all over the living room. Narcissa pretended not to notice. Pansy pretended not to flush, her eyes lost in the distance.

With old newspapers banished from two armchairs, they finally had somewhere they could decently sit.

When Narcissa broached the topic of returning to Hogwarts, Pansy blanched.

"Are you out of your mind ! They will want to punish me for everything the Carrows -"

"Blaise and Tracy talked last year. The trials helped people see that Slytherins weren't exactly... pampered by the Carrows. It will be hard, but you won't be in danger."

"Right. They still hate us. They hated us before and they hate us even more now. They _loathe_ me. I'm the one who said to turn Potter over to the Dark Lord!"

"So you're going to hide? Where's your ambition?"

"That's not fair! You hide your own son half-way across the world and send me to walk Hogwarts' corridors so you can feel _better?_"

"No. You need to fight. You had your reasons, like I had, to not push back, not like the Gryffindors did. They fought, and died, for the future they wanted. You need to fight now, for the future you want."

"We died too! Mother... You think she was _happy_ the Dark Lord returned? There was no choice, he owned them! He-. And now she's in Azkaban, for _life_. We have the house but nobody's ever going to hire Father. The money we were allowed to keep is going to last another year maybe, and then what?"

"And then you'll have your NEWTs, and you'll stop paying for your parents' mistakes." Narcissa frowned. "Do you believe they were mistakes?"

"What, to end up enslaved to a Dark Lord who crucioed people on a whim, drained our resources and didn't even manage to win the bloody war?" She sneered. "Who wants to be around a_ Parkinson _these days?"

"Is your self-esteem so strongly tied to your name and so little to your abilities?"

Pansy slammed her fist against the armchair. "Get out! How you can stand here, like nothing happened, as if you weren't -." She pointed her wand at Narcissa. "Get out of my house!"

Narcissa slowly backed away. Not that she was afraid of Pansy, only there wasn't much to do with the other in such a volatile state.

_Well... She had tried._

It wasn't until she was out of the wards that she clenched her fists.

_No, she had failed._

If she was going to be Head of Slytherin House, she'd have to do better. _'Is your self-esteem so strongly tied to your name' _what had possessed her to tell an objectively average witch born into one of the oldest pureblood families _that_? _Of course the girl's self-worth was tied to her name!_

* * *

"Cissy!"

Lyra had taken to aggressively jumping on Narcissa in greeting ever since she'd realized the witch sometimes stayed only minutes between apparitions.

"Hello you, how was your play-date with Wendell and Philomena ?"

"Fun." Lyra smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. "_Mostly_." The child grabbed Narcissa's forearms with both her hands. "Nobody here looks like me..."

"Teddy does now," Harry interjected. "Hi, Narcissa."

Narcissa grinned when she saw Teddy by the door, two fingers in his mouth, his skin Lyra's exact shade of brown. The toddler had taken to following the older girl around like an awestruck puppy, something Lyra was either thrilled or exasperated by, depending on her mood.

"Didn't you take an Indian girl to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry winced. A huge grin slowly brightened his face. "Wait, Draco told you about that? He _complained_?" Looking all too proud of himself, he turned to Lyra. "She's right: Padma Patil. She and her twin were in my year at Hogwarts. They might even know kids your age..."

"She speaks Tamil?" Lyra said eagerly. "Wendell said I talk funny."

"It's called an accent. It's because you're worldly and he's never been anywhere."

"Right, tell the boy that," Regulus said, his smile sarcastic as he shook his head at Narcissa. "Is this how you taught your son to make friends?"

_Oh her cousin wanted to go there?_ Narcissa smiled sweetly. "There are two types of people, Reggie, those -"

Harry cleared his throat. "I know Parvati speaks Ind- " he furrowed his brow sheepishly. "There's more than one language in India, isn't there?"

"Too busy staring at the pretty girl to ask, huh?" Regulus teased. "Wait, Parvati... I read of her in the Prophet. She was in your _house,_ not just your year, and you _never_ bothered to ask?"

Harry huffed. "I'm still working on the asking questions part, alright? Give me a break."

Still smirking, Regulus turned to Narcissa. "Did you come to see me or Harry?"

"Harry."

"Well now I'm jealous," Regulus deadpanned. "Come on kids, lets go play hide and seek in the attic before Harry finishes getting rid of everything that's fun and dark about this house."

"What? No, Uncle Harry, you can't keep throwing away-" Lyra's protests became shrieks as her father picked her up. Reggie grinned unapologetically as Harry glowered at being made the bad guy.

"You are good co-parents," Narcissa soothingly said.

"Your cousin's worse than Ginny with the teasing, and much less cute," Harry snapped. His smile belied his protests. He pulled out a chair for Narcissa, which never failed to make her smile._ Muggle-raised_. "What did you want me for?"

"I... what do you think would happen if Pansy Parkinson returned to Hogwarts?"

Harry huffed, all mirth gone. "Like, apologizing and then acting extra-nice, or acting... like herself?"

"She believes she'd be in danger."

"She's a nasty blood elitist, at least, that's the only side _I_ ever saw." Harry muttered. "I... I just don't get how you become that way. I mean, it's so _obvious_ that blood doesn't make the wizard. You just have to open your eyes and -."

"Do... would you like to ask her why? Perhaps articulating it -" Narcissa's voice trailed off. Would _she_ have been able to answer, at nineteen? To untangle her own upbringing, the ingrained beliefs, the events that had strengthened them, the events she had chosen to ignore or misinterpret? _No_. It was absurd to put that burden on a witch who'd been expected to obey without question her whole short life.

"You know..." Harry lowered his eyes. "Sometimes, I think it would be simpler if people like Pansy just... went away. It's just... we use so much energy giving chances, again and again, to people who -"

"People like me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on. You've not being sitting around waiting for people to help you."

"She's barely more than a child. And I'm not asking you to help," Narcissa decided. "I have to do this myself."

"Sure, good luck. I don't... I don't wish Pansy ill, I just... If she comes to Hogwarts with me, I promise I'll do my best to be civil. I... I don't expect to _like_ her, but I won't look the other way if people get too vindictive. "

Narcissa smiled and ruffled his hair. He glowered, but she just _had to_. Funny how Draco's hair had never tempted her to ruffle them. Perhaps it was because Harry's was already all over the place.

* * *

Narcissa decided to write a letter. A letter would give Pansy more privacy.

_My parents never asked me what I wanted, or when they did, I knew well what answers would be acceptable and what were not. My parents weren't interested in getting to know their daughters. All that mattered was that we mold ourselves to their expectations. _

_But at least we were superior. While the inferiors fooled around, we prepared. We crafted spells and made alliances. When we walked out of Hogwarts, we knew exactly what our place was. We had power._

_It took me more years than it should have to make the connection between the warnings about dark arts overuse and my parents' callousness, their cruelty. Until I had Draco, I did not hate them. I was desperate to believe that they had my best interests at heart. __But after my son was born, I realized they had no excuse. I finally allowed myself to be angry. I vowed Draco would be allowed to be himself. Some would argue I spoiled him._

_I married Lucius for love. One could wonder if I would still have loved Lucius had my parents approved of our marriage. They wanted me with a man who would bow to them. To me, Lucius was freedom. _

_Later, he came home with the mark on his arm. He could have chosen then, to refuse, to leave Britain with me. He would have sacrificed his father, which he loved. Which I loved. He would have given up his family home, his wealth. He chose not to, while believing he had no choice. _

_When the Dark Lord returned, I could have taken Draco and left. I would have sacrificed my husband, and most of everything I owned. I chose not to, while believing I had no choice. I lied to the Dark Lord not to save Harry Potter, but to save my son. I would have told you then, that I had no choice. Of course, that particular choice saved us._

_I cannot tell you what to choose, but I can help you if you let me. I choose to help you because I believe people like you and me have a lot to offer Britain. I have a duty to you because I would today be nothing had people not helped me. It was terrifying then, to owe Potter of all people. And I cannot understate how fortunate I am to have a sister who welcomed me despite the way we cast her out._

_Today, I'm not afraid anymore. I wish to see you unafraid._

* * *

Pansy still glared when she welcomed Narcissa, but she had dressed and done her hair and a clear effort had been made with the state of the house.

"I have nobody, Lady Malfoy. I mean, Father cares but... he won't get me out of here. I don't know what to think, who to trust. Theo and Greg speak to me, but only because they are cursed like I am. The others avoid me like the pox."

"Did you truly like Draco?"

_"Does Pansy truly believe I'm perfect?" _Twelve-year-old Draco had asked in a rare display of insecurity. _"Or is she just after the Malfoy name?"_

Pansy stared at the change of subject. She abruptly laughed. "Sure. He could be funny. He... he liked flattery. I mean, he often had to pretend to ignore me, it's a bloke thing, and he hated that people teased him about me, but -. He looked out for me, most of the time. He would have been an excellent match. And... you and Lord Malfoy looked so happy together."

"I drugged Lucius to question him about his father. They looked close, it struck me as terribly odd, considering the relationship I had with my own father."

Pansy giggled. "You drugged- that's messed up, right?" Her smile turned bitter. "You're saying it's the Gryffindors who are right. That Granger, with her brains and her friends that would die for her, I'm not superior to her."

"She is still rather ignorant of our ways."

"But she can learn," Pansy said with a grimace. "Me... What am I supposed to do? Perhaps if I _crawl_ the Gryffindors will let me sit at the back of the class without hexing me."

"You hurt people."

Pansy straightened defensively. "I-"

"You hurt people. I did too. Our reasons may matter, but first we need to acknowledge what we did. You cannot demand people's forgiveness, and even if they grant it to you, they will not forget. They might decide to leave the room whenever you try to talk to them. You cannot demand warmth or respect, but you have a right to be safe, to be protected by the same rules as any student."

"I've never been a good student. What's the point? To prove they were right. That being pureblood doesn't mean anything?"

"To prove that you belong at Hogwarts. That you are a British witch, not an exile. That the future of our nation is yours too."

"No Slytherin will want to associate with me. It's hard enough for them-"

"I'm sure some Gryffindors, or Ravenclaws, or Hufflepuffs, will be delighted to show you the error in your ways and even be mostly kind about it."

Horror creased Pansy's face at that prospect. She swallowed. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"What do you want your future to look like?"

"I... I'm tired of being hated. Of losing." She sighed, arms spread in defeat. "Being pureblood, half-blood, muggleborn... It's always mattered _so much_. How can I just make it not matter?"

"Every muggleborn is born from a squib who was abandoned by, most likely, an old pureblood house. Interesting how Lily Evans had a sister called Petunia, a mother called Rose and a grandfather with a flower name who had been himself adopted."

"Wait... Potter's mother was a Parkinson?"

"I have no idea. But she could have been. Does that help?"

Pansy blinked. "Maybe... Okay, Granger has that huge curly hair, so she's probably related to Bellatrix. I'll remember that."

_That- _Narcissa furrowed her brow, quickly making an inventory of the squibs blasted off the Black family tapestry. _Cassiopeia's brother_ _Marius had been sent away in 1930, could he have -. _

Pansy's lips were twitching, the insolent child.

"Bloodmagic dies in squibs, so our lineage spells are useless," Narcissa said. "But my sister tells me muggles have a recent technology to determine parentage. We should investigate."

"Is it true? It does sound plausible, but... are _all_ muggleborn born of -?"

"The first wizards were half-breeds, muggle and creature. Merlin himself was the son of a demon. Magic doesn't just appear."

"No, it has to come from somewhere," Pansy agreed. "Only... they said it was stolen. That this is why our ancestors were more powerful than we are."

"How? If magic could be stolen intentionally, don't you think the Dark Lord would have drained all who stood in his path? If it's unintentional, a freak event... The world's muggle population has been multiplied by ten in two centuries, but we're not seeing ten times the amount of muggleborn. Countries that do not exclude their squibs have a much lower incidence of 'muggleborn' wizards, and most are found to have a wizarding parents who chose to dally with a muggle and skirt their responsibilities, often with the help of a few memory charms."

Pansy scrunched up her nose. "Lovely. It's not like contraception charms exist..." She looked down. "Not that it's excusable behavior, even when there's no child." She sighed again. "It... it shouldn't matter, whether they're secretly related to us or not, shouldn't it? That's what _they_'ll tell me."

"Beliefs are hard to shake. You will have to do your best. Nevertheless if you have to lie a little to survive, I won't blame you." Narcissa smiled, the sight of this lost young witch making her ache for her far away son. "I sorted Slytherin. I believe in strategic lies."

Pansy chuckled weakly. "I'm terrified. I'm so fed up with being terrified."

Narcissa reached out to grasp her hand. It was cold. "I know."

Pansy shut her eyes and squeezed back. "Well," she whispered, "hopefully Mother will be pleased to see me getting back on track..."

"Why don't I come with you, next time you visit Patricia in Azkaban?"

Pansy winced. "She'll demand you get her free. She'll -"

"I can take care of myself, and whatever she says won't change what I think of you," Narcissa said firmly. "Why don't I tell you about my sister Bellatrix and my great-aunt Cassiopeia, who Bella adored for a time, and who made Bella miserable because she made Bella feel like she never good enough."

"Must we do this?" Pansy said in a tiny voice. "I know Mother's difficult, but -"

"You have enough courage to keep visiting her, you can survive a conversation with me. Patricia is the problem, not you." The witch had envied Bellatrix's position and stopped at nothing to reach that kind of regard in the Dark Lord's eyes (she'd not been foolish enough to challenge Bellatrix's position as _favorite_. She'd wanted Bella to _like_ her.) By the end of the war, Patricia had been firmly in the Dark Lord's inner circle, valued especially for her mastery of the imperius. She'd been so supremely _satisfied_ to stand above the Malfoys.

Pansy's sigh was resigned, but the gratitude in her brown eyes convinced Narcissa she'd made the right call. It was high time to break this vicious circle of children crushed by toxic expectations and, too often still, outright abuse.

* * *

The _Daily Prophet_ announced Narcissa's nomination at Hogwarts two weeks before the beginning of the school year.

"It's beautiful, in its way," Andromeda said wryly as the second Howler of the day entangled itself in the wards, burning up in a shower of colorful sparks.

For over a year, Narcissa had kept away from the public eye. Now, between the destruction of dementors and _this_, she'd once more become the center of attention. Minerva had made a very strongly-worded statement in the Prophet reminding that teachers would be fired for improper behavior but that until such behavior occurred, hiring was _her_ prerogative, and that any person using the war as an argument against Narcissa had better be prepared to see their own past actions closely scrutinized. That didn't stop parents who'd never worked for the Ministry from having strong opinions, but it did silence those who'd argued for their own political gain.

"It's the ones who are using this to undermine our efforts to curb the nepotism in the Ministry that I'm more worried about." That, and the parents who'd poison their children against her, but admitting her fear of being an inadequate teacher felt childish. As much as Narcissa craved to one day be able to lower her guard in public, she was fortunate to have been offered a position at Hogwarts at all.

"It's not nepotism when you're more qualified than the other applicants."

"I don't need you to appeal to my pride, Meda. I know the timing isn't ideal."

Since Harry had official ceded the title of Lord Black to Andromeda, they had stirred up a storm by dragging the more entrenched mages of the Prophet and the Ministry, those who always managed to slip through the cracks, in the public light. With the wireless and Lee Jordan, and occasionally _the Quibbler_, they had platforms willing to tackle uncomfortable topics. The push-back hadn't been too overt : gone was the time of assassinations or defamation campaigns, but obstruction could be insidious and they were working against a system that favored inertia. As tempting as getting rid of all the bureaucracy was, being too hasty would only cause problems later on.

Still, Andromeda stood serene. "Short term? You've indeed set us back. Long term? No. It'll shut up those who say we're on crusade against noble and ancient families. They'll have proof that if they're pushed aside, it's because they stink, not because of their names. You know how to be coolly polite like the best of them, if it comes to the worst, your shields are powerful, and this will reveal who's still a problem."

"Being suspicious of me doesn't make one _a problem_." Not that she didn't hate admitting it.

"I'm thinking about getting those concerned parents organized, have them name a couple of representatives. There are still two empty seats on the Board of Governors, and having parents of current students as rotating board members can't hurt. "

_Temporary_ board members? How very modern. "Are you trying to buy social peace by handing out titles, Lady Black?"

Andromeda smiled wolfishly. "I might yet get good at this politics game. The question is who should be the one to suggest this? Me? Minerva? Kingsley? Perhaps we should find someone respected who doesn't like you but who is willing to be reasonable."

There were quite a few of _those_. "Augusta Longbottom?" Unlike Molly Weasley, Augusta couldn't be as easily accused of doing whatever Harry would ask.

Andromeda nodded thoughtfully, but her eyes betrayed that she a better idea. "Doesn't Garrick Ollivanders have a great-great nephew in second year?"

Narcissa sucked in breath. _Did it have to be the man that had been tortured for months in the Manor's dungeons? _Old guilt clenched her shoulders, guilt she suspected she would never be rid of.

"Well," she managed, "at least he'll be able to understand those who want absolutely nothing to do with me."

Still, it was wonderful to realize that her worst fear these days was_ not getting a job._

* * *

**Next chapter, Hogwarts^^. Things are going to get... fun. Teenagers don't play by the same rules as adults and tempers are still running high. **


	28. N: The Defense Professor

**The parks finally reopened in my city. I've never been so happy to just sit on the grass.**

** Paul : we've definitely passed the mid-point on this story, but I can't say how long it will end up being. There's definitely at least a handful of chapters left.**

* * *

The autumn fog's cottony hues reflected by the enchanted ceiling seemed to drizzle down on the assembled crowd. Gathered in the Great Hall on long wooden benches set in neat rows for the occasion, the students stared, some curious, most guarded. There were no assigned seats and yet they mostly clustered by year and house. More than any others, the teenagers in green-and-silver sat apart, the empty space at the edge of their group large enough to sit two.

"The topic will be later covered more in depth in your Defense against the Dark Arts class, as appropriate for your year level," the Headmistress was saying. Minerva didn't have to raise her voice to hold the attention of two-hundred-and-fifty teenagers.

The rest of the staff stood in a loose semi-circle before the students. This school-wide first lesson would spare Narcissa the need to cover the same material seven times over, but most of all, it was a display of adult unity in front of the student body.

Mutters began to rise as Narcissa took a step forward. She'd done this all her life, cloak herself in cool confidence among those who held no love for her, and yet today she felt unusually nervous.

"This is a lesson, behave accordingly. We'll _happily_ correct Professor Malfoy if she tries to impart inaccurate knowledge."

Some of the more defiant students' shoulders slumped at Hermione Granger's pointed words. It was so nice to have allies.

"Light arts are specific and reliable," Narcissa began. "Each incantation gives a well-documented effect. Study and practice are the best ways to become proficient, as such, a classroom environment is fit for learning."

Already some students seemed to waver in their attention.

"Dark Arts are, contrarily to light magic, guided by purpose and emotion. The intensity of the emotion, the sharpness of your focus, shapes your magic. Two mages can cast the same spell with significantly different results."

Frowns began to appear. Narcissa took her wand out, slowly, and pointing it towards the empty wall to her side. "_Protego subsisto."_

Air shimmered as yellow-orange magic condensed into a wide screen a few yards from Narcissa. "_Protego_ is a light shield spell most of you already know. _Protego subsisto_ is its weaker but more long-lived sister-incantation. A light spell commonly used during friendly duels to protect the audience from stray spells. Professors, would you kindly cast the _subsisto_?"

All but Hagrid gracefully complied, and over a dozen very similar shields filled the space between staff and students.

"Once you have mastered the incantation, you will obtain the same shield every time you cast it. That is the nature of light magic : inflexible but reliable."

One by one, the teachers muttered dispels. The shields slowly dissolved.

Narcissa raised her wand once more. "_Tuitio_!"

Unlike her solid, solemn-looking _Protego_, the new shield was thin and lazy, like a floating blob of water. She turned to the students. "A volunteer?" she said, "to cast the same spell."

A hundred heads turned towards Slytherin house. There was something venomous in the new whispers and a worrying glint in too many of the teenagers' eyes. Narcissa suddenly feared she'd made a mistake.

An older Ravenclaw abruptly stood up. "I'll do it. It's going to be underwhelming, unless you hex me, Professor, which I believe is the point."

Narcissa kept her expression pleasantly impassive. Showing gratitude for the boy's intervention would brand her weak. Minerva had warned her,_ 'never show that you require their approval. Teachers must always look confident'._ "It is indeed the point, Mr -."

"Puddifoot. _Tuitio_!" The result was no blob, but floating shimmering puzzle-pieces that didn't seem to quite fit and looked like a strong breeze would make them fold.

"Are you familiar with the bladder release hex, Mr. Puddifoot?"

The young man blanched. Narcissa gave him a second to collect himself before sending a jet of bluish light straight at his stomach. _Wordlessly_. She didn't want to teach this particular incantation to a bunch of juveniles.

"_Tuitio_!" he shouted, with _much_ more conviction that his first spell.

Her (under-powered, but poor Puddifoot didn't know that) hex crashed against a pulsing grayish slab of magic thick enough to be a Gringott's vault door.

"Mr. Puddifoot's visceral reaction at the prospect of wetting himself in public is what powered the spell. Same incantation, different conditions, very different results. You now understand why testing Dark Arts proficiency in class would be... awkward."

Narcissa was proud to tear some rueful smiles and chuckles from her audience, and even more to see the realization in dozens of eyes.

"Why bother learning five types of light shield spells if the dark one adapts to what you need?"

And so began her first questions.

"Light Arts grew popular because people like to use magic when they _want_ to," Narcissa answered. "Historically, back when mages depended much more on Dark Arts, cheering charms and calming spells were battle curses : they crippled the caster's ability to muster enough purpose to harness their magic. And take healing : before advanced medicine and light healing, it was much harder for a mage to heal a stranger. You wouldn't want to go to Saint Mungo's and have to bet your life on your healer not having had a bad day."

"And Dark Arts make you evil and crazy," a voice called.

"Raise your hands for questions," Minerva snapped. Her glare silenced the new whispers but it couldn't erase the expression of stubborn approval on most of the children's faces.

"Dark Arts can be used for good or ill, but cast dark protection spells when you are terrified, and you will find yourself afraid even in non-threatening situations. Use anger to propel your offensive magic, and you will grow wrathful. Your mind tries to be helpful by making it easier for you to feel strongly enough to harness your magic, but as all you are old enough to know, sometimes strong emotions aren't our ally." She paused, satisfied to see she had their attention. "Lord Voldemort used mostly rage." The older students shuddered reflexively at the name, but many of the younger ones... _didn't_. An unexpectedly feeling of elation filled Narcissa's chest.

A hand shot in the air. "If it can be used for good or ill, why are all dark wizards bad?"

Narcissa flinched. Perhaps because the Hufflepuff boy, no older than thirteen, had said it with perfect earnestness.

"Mad-Eye Moody was a dark wizard," Harry cut in with a scowl from the front row of Gryffindor students. "And Professor McGonagall would never hire someone she didn't think was safe."

"Nevertheless," Narcissa allowed, her eyes crinkling at Harry's inability to let a slight against people he cared about pass. "Many dark wizards _are_ bad people, as you say. Why? Because Dark Arts have become associated with evil and power, they are pursued by people who value such things. Most decent, law-abiding people don't see the point in learning, and there are no registered tutors. Families that still practice the old ways must be discreet about their practice and often, wrongly, pretend everything is under control because they are afraid to see their magic use restricted. Safe use of Dark Arts requires some humility."

"_Humility_. The chief virtue of dark old-blood families."

Students turned as one to identify the source of the magic-enhanced words. An androgynous voice, twisted into anonymity. Narcissa scanned the older students for a guilty face but saw only varying degrees of hilarity, even among Slytherins.

A tiny serious-looking Ravenclaw raised her hand above the rippling laughter. Flitwick's _Sonorus_ amplified her voice. "Is all accidental magic Dark Arts then, Professor?"

The harmless, shrewd question filled Narcissa with unexpected delight. "Yes, but not the kind you should worry about."

More questions followed. Narcissa took a slow breath, not used to having so many eyes on her. Behind every question the students asked, she'd heard those they _didn't_, kept civil by the presence of the teachers they actually respected.

Not that she would let her nerves show. "Lastly, Unforgivables. They are among the most addictive dark curses. Your mind will make excuses and find reasons to use them, once you begin. Unlike other magic you cannot use them for anything other than harm. You cannot cast an _Adava Kedavra_ to painlessly butcher an animal. You cannot _Imperio_ a child to stop them from walking off a cliff."

This time, it wasn't one hand but dozens shooting in the air. "Why _not_?"

"Because the imperius requires you to want to strip all will from your target. You need to want to _own_ them. Casting it from a place of empathy, respect or even fear is not possible. Likewise, to cast the killing curse you must want to destroy the person or the beast. It's always... _personal_. People who put down animals do it because it's necessary, not because they particularly want to." She took a slow breath. "I have a question for you now : why were so many Death Eaters imperioed during the first war?"

"They weren't! They're a bunch of liars," a boisterous voice called, followed by scattered cheers.

"They did not," Narcissa replied calmly, "give Albus Dumbledore some credit."

"They were coerced into serving You- _Riddle_," an older Hufflepuff said, somewhat reluctantly.

"Irrelevant. Had Lord Voldemort ordered Lucius to obey, he would have without the imperius, because those who didn't either died or buried their loved ones. It doesn't make their crimes less true, but with the penalty for disloyalty so high... Few are as brave as Severus Snape."

A gloomy silence descended upon the assembly. A little intense for the younger crowd, perhaps, but so essential to understanding the wars that it couldn't be avoided. Narcissa didn't doubt many had a lot to say, but rows of cross-armed stiff-jawed young mages stared back at her without a word.

One of the older Gryffindors, a small boy with mousy brown hair, finally raised his hand.

"Dennis Creevey," Hermione whispered helpfully.

"Yes, Mr. Creevey?"

"He enjoyed it." The teenager's gaze was hard. "It's addictive, you just said. If it's not because it made sense, then it has to be because he enjoyed it."

"Yes," Narcissa whispered. "Cast the cruciatus once in vengeance, you will find it easier, next time, to convince yourself someone who slights you deserves torture. You will find it easier to enjoy it. Cast the cruciatus enough, and you will see slights in everything."

"Right... it's not Bellatrix's fault she crucioed everybody, it was _addiction_." The acid in the Hufflepuff girl's voice could have melted steel.

Minerva glowered but Narcissa raised her hand to stop her. As long as they _asked_, she could answer. It was in silence that resentment grew unchecked.

"By the time she was mad? Yes, it was addiction." And Azkaban. It was no surprise Bella had latched upon anything that made her feel alive. "But madness needs time to grow. Some people cast unforgivables once or twice in moments of extreme pressure and do not lose their humanity."

"Like Molly Weasley? She did successfully cast the killing curse," Penelope Clearwater said, turning towards Bill.

The question could easily have been a provocation. Instead, Narcissa realized the two young Professors were making a point.

"Mum has had a hard time grieving, harder than I think she would have otherwise," Bill admitted, his long scars glinting under the magical lights. "She... in the heat of the moment she was afraid Bellatrix would have been able to deflect anything weaker. And she did want her _dead _as much as she wanted to protect Ginny."

"It's not a flaw to see a monster in the witch who tries to murder your child," Narcissa said darkly. "I loved my sister when we were girls, but I lost her decades ago, years before the first war." She had not come here with the intent to say something _that_ personal, but since she'd not escape being on trial, she realized she had to give the kids _something_.

And it seemed to work. Oh, she had no illusion that would be _trusted, _but Narcissa would settle for _'worth learning from'._

A hand suddenly rose among the group of Slytherins. A little apprehensive, Narcissa nodded to the witch. "Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"When I was in second year, Professor Moody demonstrated unforgivables in my sister's class. Harry Potter's class. He cast the imperius on students. You said there are no _right_ reasons, so how didn't that immediately give away that this wasn't Moody but a polyjuiced Death Eater?"

At a loss, Narcissa turned towards the Headmistress. It was an excellent question.

Minerva looked pained. "Without Alastor, the first war would have been over before it began. Those years hardened him into ruthlessness. During the late seventies, we would capture Death Eaters, but those captured would be broken out by Riddle, and their captors murdered. Alastor lost a lot of good people before he convinced himself killing was necessary. He used the killing curse because it made our enemies _afraid_. They stopped attacking so brazenly, and many innocents were saved. " Minerva took a breath. "Alastor never truly made peace with his actions. He became closed off and paranoid. Albus called him to teach because... well, we would otherwise have had Dolores Umbridge a year earlier."

The compassion and understanding that filled the faces of every student older than fifteen at those last words was both comical and tragic.

"Use of the imperius in the name of teaching children to resist was unacceptable," Minerva said softly, "but it unfortunately didn't feel incompatible with his character. We underestimated him."

"Did you ask Moody, later?" Harry interjected from the front row. "What did he say?"

"That we were of bunch of idiots to think he'd ruin himself further by twisting his mind into considering children pawns. He... he was quick to forgive, saying that he couldn't quite blame us for thinking him capable of such a thing."

Narcissa suddenly realized she had to ask the witch if Alastor Moody had ever said why he'd not questioned Sirius' guilt. But with the confirmation that Moody had seen Death Eaters as irredeemable monsters, as was required to cast the killing curse, Narcissa feared she already had her answer. It filled her with sadness, for both men's sake.

"We made a huge mistake," Minerva admitted stiffly. In this age of reckoning, the Headmistress was right to lead by example, but Narcissa admired the courage it took to admit such a thing. "We failed to trust an old friend, we ignored our suspicions, and we had gotten too used to making allowances due to the difficulty in recruiting defense teachers."

"About screwing up defense teacher recruitment-"

"Oh I'm very proud of myself this year, Peakes," Minerva deadpanned. "And that's ten points from Gryffindor for disrespect."

"Yeah Peakes, maybe there _wasn't_ anybody who wasn't a frigging Death Eater..." Another Gryffindor said, standing up with her arms crossed. "With all due respect, Professor, between Umbridge and the Carrows, we've learned not to make a big deal of house points."

Assent rose from the students' ranks, and the Gryffindors soon weren't the only ones on their feet. The sudden roar abruptly died. The teenagers were still standing, mouths opening and closing, but a magical field had silenced them.

"Yeah..." Harry said, his wand raised as he glared at his feet. "You _all_ know Nar-, Prof. Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater, and that she fooled Voldemort into thinking I was dead during the Battle of Hogwarts, so don't you dare use the war as an excuse to be gits. Professor Malfoy has proved herself to me, to Hermione, to Minerva... If you think you know better than us... Those who actually _want_ to learn magic don't have to put up with your bollocks. And you _desperately_ need to learn, or I'd not be able to force you all to shut up so easily."

Narcissa's wordless _Finite_ had no effect on Harry's silence field. It wasn't a charm, but a ward. Bill Weasley noticed at the same time as she did and unraveled it with a couple of unlocking spells.

"We all still have complicated feelings from the war," Bill said with a tight, sympathetic smile. "But this is not the way to express them. Peakes, Miss Higgs, you will have detention with me tomorrow night."

The resulting chatter was subdued. They will still angry. This would be difficult. Nevertheless, Narcissa wanted to believe tonight had made it easier.

* * *

As Narcissa walked alone in the castle, an invisible fog seemed to surround her, muffling students' conversations. She felt their eyes on her back, to the point where she often hesitated to make herself unnoticeable, to be freed from this weight. And yet hiding would solve nothing. She did not _want_ to hide.

They stared but they avoided her gaze. Consciously, pointedly. In class, they were reasonably disciplined. They turned their essays on time and she could not complain about the level of effort they put in their work. Outside class... '_You don't belong here,' _their attitude said. When Narcissa would cross a lone student in a corridor, most _did_ acknowledge her, some even granting her an almost friendly '_hello, Professor'_, but in groups, they seemed to have collectively decided that she was someone to be tolerated rather than welcomed.

No rules were broken. A year under the Carrows had taught those teenagers the art of subtle defiance. Even the very youngest, those who'd come to the castle after the war, mimicked instinctively the behavior of their older housemates.

Narcissa would have wished to say things were easier with the children of her own house. But for every student inclined to trust her, there were those who desperately wished for Slytherin to stop being associated with _Death Eaters_. Those brought any personal issues to Professor Redclove, the Slytherin who had never been involved with the Dark Lord.

Narcissa had grown used to entering a room expecting to be the one sought out, the one who was asked for favors. Necessity had made others bow to her and she had enjoyed it. Only now could she see that she had broken away from her parents' clutches but never quite from the company they kept, this world of masks and power plays. She'd thought she had what she wanted : freedom and a happy family, but now-

It wasn't just memories of Lucius and Draco that the word _family_ conjured now. The lines of Meda's face as she smiled, lines Narcissa had not been there to see appear. A toddler with changing features whose mother she'd never met. A cousin who'd had to cripple himself because they'd all failed to save him; who was more forgiving than any of them deserved. Another cousin, killed by Narcissa's own sister before Narcissa had had a chance to speak to him again.

Not that she'd fought for that chance.

She could have had _so much more_ had she just _tried_ and instead she'd-

Narcissa slid her hand into her robes, brushing Lyra's latest letter, a thick parchment where colorful ink made looping words, many ruthlessly crossed out to make space for their correctly-spelled version. A particularly large smudge betrayed that child must have put some ink on her dictionary's spine and then rubbed it somehow against the parchment.

_Athai, _

_The attic is useless. I want it made into a garden for Christmas. A good house must have a garden. I made you a drawing to help you see. Miss you. Love._

_Lyra._

Narcissa let the parchment's smoothness soothe her. She'd have to answer soon : the child would send Kreacher when Narcissa made her wait too long.

The hair-rising tickle of crude wards stopped Narcissa in her tracks. It was something she'd saved for the older students : explaining the _intuitiveness_ of Dark Arts, how they made you more sensitive to magic of all kinds.

The door before her, shut, had been warded off for privacy.

She'd been on her way to see Poppy Pomfrey, to ask after one of her younger students who'd begun experimenting with spellcrafting a little too enthusiastically. More empty frames than inhabited portraits filled the walls around her. Discretely carved words could be seen in some of the floor's stones.

_Lavender Brown_. _Ernie McMillian. _

There were enough memorials, it had been agreed, and it was not right to make a school a place of mourning. An exception had been made for those who had still been students, those who should never have been on the front lines had the Isles not failed their children terribly.

Narcissa couldn't help wondering who else had fallen between those two stones.

She charmed the door behind the ward see-through from her side and stared as her spell revealed a group of eight students between third and seventh year. Three Ravenclaw, two Hufflepuff, a Gryffindor and two Slytherin. Two were soundlessly singing, the others played oboes, flutes and strings. Behind them, ghost-like instruments floated in midair, manifestations of conjured sound. The ripples of the phantom harp followed the strokes of Astoria Greengrass's bow on her viola.

Narcissa charmed the door silent, and cast an illusion to make it look like it had remained shut as she, disillusioned, slipped inside. The ward had not been cast to keep people out, only to keep the noise inside. The second Narcissa crossed its threshold, music filled her ears.

Even without her own years of practice, she could have said this was no _hobby_ group. These children were incredible, and their spells... She'd tried it herself, making it sound like a full orchestra was behind her as she played. She'd succeeded well enough to impress a then young Draco, and to make her husband smile, but there was a fullness to true instruments, an emotionality to played notes, that eluded her in magic.

Lucian Davies, a broad-chested fourth year Ravenclaw, suddenly stopped singing. What had been a sort of modernized Italian opera fell apart in a few more beats.

"Is it me or is it echoing wrong?"

Narcissa shut her eyes in aggravation. Given away because she'd ruined the _acoustics_ with her presence. She hesitated, but if they detected her as opposed to her willingly revealing herself... The last thing she needed was a reputation for spying on students.

They started when she appeared. "I detected your ward. I just came in and was about to leave. I didn't want to disturb you once it was clear you weren't rule-breaking." She smiled slightly, wishing she didn't have to fake being at ease. "This is outstanding."

And not just the music. Students from the four houses and all kinds of backgrounds. Hufflepuff's Rachel Levine and her violin had just convinced Narcissa that muggles could give their children excellent musical instruction.

"Sooo... when will _stealthy_ wards get taught in class, Professor?" Davies said, his eyes hopeful.

"You could incorporate some elements of an age-line to make it easy for teachers to hear you playing from the outside but not students. It..." Her lips quirked. "You're using the same wards we've caught amorous couples behind."

"Well it makes sense everybody uses their best wards to do what matters to them..." Davies muttered with a faint blush. "We didn't mean to sneak around, Ma'am, just not be loud."

Narcissa embraced the room with her gaze. "You're not in trouble. Is this what you all want to do, after Hogwarts?"

The Gryffindor, sixth year Demelza Robins, nodded. "Not me. Singing full-time is too stressful, but the rest, you bet they will. There might be a murder too considering how competitive the field- " She peered at Narcissa through narrowed eyes. "With the right patron, we could create a whole orchestra from scratch... You're _sure_ you haven't any money left stashed somewhere, Prof.?"

Behind the playful tone, there was a bite that reminded Narcissa that Robins was one of the students who pointedly ignored her out of class.

"What do you play, Professor?" Astoria said, with the slightly haughty smile of someone who knew she was doing Narcissa a favor by changing the subject.

"The harp and the piano. It's a pleasure to play, but I'm hardly as good you."

"Draco once admitted to have given it all up after coming to Hogwarts. It must've broken your heart."

Narcissa's lips quirked. "I survived. I'll take my revenge when he has kids of his own." Today, she wished she had insisted. She _had_ spoiled her son, her perspective skewed by the memory of too-strict parents and the simple joy of having a child that loved her without fearing her.

The others chuckled, and Narcissa marveled at having stumbled upon them... relaxed. _Was this how it always was for the other teachers? _

"You and Lucius have split, right? He's not coming back."

Narcissa stared at Robins. _The gall -_

The young woman shrugged. "Hey, no judgement here. It just... You should say it outright. Before the war there was all the political stuff your husband did, and none of that can be blamed on Riddle. I get he's your son's father and all, but respect shouldn't come at the price of your own reputation."

"Demelza," Levine hissed, "you're so out of line Astoria and Constantine might faint."

The two old-family purebloods glowered, but Robins didn't break Narcissa's stare.

Narcissa had opened her mouth to say she _hadn't_ divorced Lucius. Her words died at the appraising glance Robins was giving her. _Morgana, what a coward she was. _The students_ had_ begun to like her, or maybe just not to hate her, and so... and so they'd convinced themselves her Death Eater husband was something of the past.

She desperately needed to change the subject. "Mauritania has a few excellent magical orchestra. I was impressed when I visited Draco." _And Lucius. _She realized then she was _still_ angry at her husband despite the fact she often missed him more than their son. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to be selfish.

Astoria's eyes lit up. "The Chinguetti orchestra? _Yes_! Do you know people there? Can you put us in contact?" She blushed faintly. "_Please_." Her sudden grin was unabashed. "I'm sure we can figure out a way to make it up to you, Professor."

At the teenager's barely contained enthusiasm, Narcissa couldn't help but smile. "A contact shouldn't be difficult to find."

The door suddenly opened to reveal Lucia Greengrass, a Ravenclaw one year younger than her cousin. "Tory, I-." She blinked at Narcissa.

"We got caught 'cause of the ward," Davies said, "Professor Malfoy might hook us up with pros."

"How nice," Greengrass replied coolly. "Fine, catch you later, Tory. There's no rush."

Narcissa's smile had long died as the girl turned around and left.

Even Robins looked taken aback by Greengrass' frostiness.

"I'll leave you to your practice," Narcissa said, her expression a pleasant mask as she herself left. "Poppy is expecting me."

_Patience_. She just needed to do her best and be... patient.

* * *

Some nights, alone with her thoughts as she patrolled the castle's mostly empty corridors, Narcissa wondered what had possessed her to accept this job. The answer was obvious : you didn't refuse when the opportunity to stop being a pariah was offered to you on a silver platter and it wasn't decent to keep living off Meda's money. Besides, it was _Hogwarts_.

Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder.

_'You've just never worked full-time in your life, little sister,' Meda had not been able to resist pointing out._

But it wasn't just the hours. Physically, she was fine. Hogwarts itself energized its staff : three hours of sleep a night left Narcissa feeling pleasantly rested. It was finding the right balance between caring enough and caring too much. They outnumbered her two-hundred-and-fifty to one, and for sixty of them, her role wasn't just to teach. And the parents... When Narcissa had given her first detentions she had not expected the _parents_ to show up. Even Minerva had looked flabbergasted.

The faint glow of a _Lumos_ had her raise her wand.

"Who is it?" she called, her detection spell informing her it was a wizard, alone.

"Dennis Creevey," came the distracted reply.

The young man was running his wand across the wall. "Can you detect him, Professor? I... I figured it'd be easier, using Dark Arts, but I'm... I think hypnotizing myself or something."

"Who are you looking for?" Narcissa could have sent him straight to detention, but she was curious, and Creevey was one of the few older Gryffindors who made a point to always greet her (out of loyalty to Harry, but she did appreciate it).

"My brother. He's a ghost, but like... like he's still far away."

_Morgana_. At a loss, Narcissa struggled to find her words. The young man was of age, but still small and terribly youthful. From up close, he looked like he'd been crying. "Dennis... You must know there was an exorcism -"

"Colin's different. I know it's him. I can hear him sometimes. It's not grief making me crazy."

"Have you talked to other ghosts?"

"They say to be patient. That if he's here, he'll show himself. But... I don't know how time works for ghosts and I won't be here much longer. "

Narcissa's eyes distractedly swept the floor for inscriptions. _Colin Creevey, where did you fall?_

Chest tight, she lifted her wand. "Walk me through the detection spells you used." It couldn't do any harm.

So Dennis did.

"-I come the nights I miss him. I... I bottled it all in last year and now... The spells makes it easier to cry. It helps. I don't make myself sad because I don't want the spells to make it harder, but when I do want to cry, I -"

Narcissa's hand instinctively grabbed the boy's upper arm. "Do _not_ use grief. It's... I know it's counter-intuitive but you should use a feeling that _doesn't_ come too easily, or it'll be hard to distinguish the effects of Dark Arts and your own normal reactions before it's too late."

"Yeah, you said that in class," Dennis said ruefully. "But... I _know_ he's here. How do I find him?"

"When you want to find things, hope tends to work."

His cheeks dimpled as he smiled, his eyes wistful. "Okay, how?"

She latched onto that smile. Onto the promise of a future where smiles could come easily and the shadows would lose their weight. Yes, grief would have been easier, there was an optimism in hope that could feel terribly elusive during hard times. Still, she had to try.

They had been walking and casting for the better part of half-an-hour when she froze before an odd shimmer. The shimmer seemed to glow and vanish, almost... _teasing_ them.

"Magic runs deep in Hogwarts." Despite her racing heart, Narcissa forced her voice calm. False hope could slice like a severing curse. "It's layers upon layers... This could be the first echo of a ghost, or it could be... anything."

"The spells led us to it. So it must be _something._" Dennis sucked in a breath. "I... Did Prof. McGonagall explain to you, why muggles can't come to Hogwarts?"

Narcissa shook her head slowly, guilt pooling into her stomach. She tried to not dismiss muggleborn mages anymore, and yet the fact she'd not even paused to consider that the young man's parents had never been able to see the school...

Dennis didn't seem offended by her admission. "It's not just muggle repellent charms. It's more advanced. It's... If you're not a close blood relative to a current student, or a former student, the wards keep you out unless the Headmaster invites you in. Blood magic is silent in squibs and muggles so they're all treated as strangers, and an invitation is a sort of rooted ward, you need magic to accept it. Death Eaters passed the outer wards because the Dark Mark fooled those into thinking everyone was Tom Riddle."

Narcissa blinked. _Fascinating_. "Werewolves?" she had to ask.

"Right... We're not sure actually. Magic works weird on werewolves."

"How does any of that explain our caretaker?"

Dennis grinned. "Yeah, that confused me too. Turns out, he saved a student's life in Hogsmeade decades ago and Hogwarts rewarded him with entry."

_Argus Filch had saved a student?_ The things one learned.

Narcissa then blinked. _Regulus, his conjured arm full of tracing spells_. _Kreacher_.

"Dennis... It's late. Come to my office tomorrow at eight. There's an option I don't think we've explored."

"Which option?"

"Well, we have recently managed to root tracing spells on my squib cousin." His face lit up and she found herself smiling back. "Shall I ask a house-elf to give you a potion to sleep?"

"Probably," he admitted, now shaking from excitement, "or you'll have a zombie knocking on your door tomorrow."

She smiled because she could hear it was a joke. She'd have to ask Harry what a zombie was.

* * *

A month later, they were no closer to knowing if Colin Creevey's ghost roamed Hogwarts, but as muggle parents gathered in the Great Hall, Narcissa realized she finally felt_ at ease_.

A skinny man with a round glasses and robes with huge printed dragons walked to her with an unexpectedly warm smile. Right behind him was a slight woman with long hair dyed a vibrant red who looked similarly good-humored.

"My son tells me you're to thank for this."

"It's the least I could do, Mr. Creevey."

"My boy, Colin, he used to take so many pictures." The man's eyes had crinkled in grief, but his smile didn't falter. "Still pictures, then the moving ones... It was almost like we were here. He did his best to make us part of this and..." His eyes swept the dozens of families milling about. "Everyone looks thrilled today. I... I can see why the boys fought for this. Would've done the same."

"We're glad to see it wasn't useless." Mrs. Creevey chuckled. "You have _magic,_" awe widened her eyes. "Of course people are people with all the laziness and pettiness and prejudice, but -. They... they changed things, didn't they?" She wiped tears from her eyes and grasped Narcissa's hands forcefully. "They made a difference."

"Yes," Narcissa managed, her own throat constricting. "We all owe them so much."

Wistfulness slowly replaced Mrs. Creevey's smile. "Mrs. Malfoy, what's this about Colin's ghost? Is it a delusion or...?"

The woman's perfume, the warmth of her hands tightly gripping Narcissa's, the softness of her gaze. And the grief. _Her son, barely a year younger than Draco-. _Flustered, Narcissa realized her eyes were filling with tears.

"I don't know... I-. Even if he is a ghost, it'll be just an echo. Ghosts are tethered by a narrow purpose and what existed beyond that purpose... I'm sorry."

"I leave you guys alone ten minutes and it looks like you're going to make my second favorite Professor _cry,_" Dennis chided, his eyes smiling. "Why can't you pester her about Hogwarts' secrets instead of heavy stuff?"

Mr. Creevey affectionately hooked his arm around his son's neck. "I was saying we can't raise boys on superheroes and ask them to duck for cover when-." He sighed. "Always wondered what I would have done, had I been in occupied territory during World War Two."

"Heroically dead, Dad. I wouldn't exist. You'd never have reproduced."

"Too right," Mrs. Creevey agreed. "Thank goodness we grew up in peacetime."

Narcissa laughed, marveling to see this couple still united after the loss of their eldest son, still able to be so _kind_. Her laughter caught stares, not all of them... pleasant. But today, Narcissa didn't care.

It was a little later that she spotted Hermione half-hidden behind a statue. The young woman looked... tense. She stiffened further as Narcissa walked towards her.

"It's so bloody _obvious,_" Hermione finally growled. "Why didn't we connect the dots earlier?"

"Knowledge is scattered among wizards, we are few and we do not have the culture of writing down knowledge that modern muggles do," Narcissa said gently. "Don't blame yourself for not having asked house-elves earlier, I'm not sure they themselves are aware of all they are capable of."

"Then we need a school of magic for house-elves," she snapped. Her nails dug into her palms and fury brimmed in her brown eyes.

Hermione caught the older witch staring. "Come," she said with a huff. "I need to show you something."

She all but dragged Narcissa to her office. _Something_ was a thick binder full of notes. Enough notes to make Narcissa dizzy. _Hundreds of pages of -_

"They're indexed," Hermione muttered, "my main conclusions are summed in twenty pages."

_Of course they were. _Narcissa had heard of Hermione Granger's intellectual... _fearsomeness_, but had never quite been confronted it.

In the castle, Hermione kept her hair in a tight bun to look more professorial, but she'd pulled enough thick curls out to look decidedly frazzled. "It's about my parents. I... I can't fix it."

The witch usually looked older than her twenty years, but right now the wetness in her eyes, the way she bit her lower lip, her fidgeting fingers, betrayed she was very much someone's child.

"I... Before I modified their memories, I ordered neuroscience texts and crossed them with any magical book I could find on the subject. But to reverse it... everything I read about memory spells, everything about the science... I... Wizards have _time turners_! We have -" She clasped her hands together, her voice dropping to a haunting whisper. "What if it's just not _possible?_"

Narcissa tried to recall all _she_ knew about mind-altering magics. "You discussed the situation with your parents and they agreed to the memory modification?"

"No. I... I didn't tell them anything. We didn't have much time and I... I just wanted them safe and happy."

"And you knew better," Narcissa mused. "You're a witch and they're only muggles. They just couldn't understand..."

Odd how suddenly angry she was. _It was reasonable to say muggles were helpless in a magical war, that it had been Hermione's responsibility to – _That line of thought shriveled, replaced by the vivid memory of Mr and Mrs. Creevey. Of _parents_. Who'd had every memory of their child _erased_. _Who would Narcissa be, without her memories of Draco? _

Hermione had gone pale. "I... Voldemort was after us. I thought I had no choice."

"Imagine your mother was single, and you found a suitable man, only she didn't see it like that, would you dose her with a love potion? She'd be _happy_."

"I _know_ it was wrong! You don't have to-"

"Why didn't force them without changing their minds? Fake identities, you bind their minds, blocking them from speaking, contacting you, leaving Australia. But leave them _themselves_."

"I _know_! They would have hated me!"

"Is that fear of your parents hating you still stronger than your respect for their individuality?"

Red-faced and tearful, Hermione backed away. "I -. I don't have to listen to this, I _know_ -"

Narcissa took a shuddering breath. Hermione had been _seventeen_. She was being cruel. "No, _I _am sorry. I... Hermione, Dark Arts are about intent. If you want loving parents more badly than you want them to recover their true memories and personalities, the magic will act accordingly, to potentially disastrous results. The brain's workings are still a mystery, light magic won't be enough."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "I... Is it enough, to want them to be themselves, even if I'm scared they'll never forgive me? How... do I need to work my feelings first then? Does – Just tell me it's _possible_," she pleaded.

"I don't know. I'm going to have to read your conclusions first." Grudging admiration filled Narcissa as her eyes fell once more on the terrifyingly thick stack of notes.

"Did you check on your parents?" she asked softly as she carefully picked up the heavy binder.

Hermione nodded, recovering her bearings with a shuddering breath. "They're seeing psychiatrists and taking some medicine for intrusive voices and ... That's what encourages me to think the memories aren't gone. But they _look_ happy. I... I hope I'd be able to tell if they were faking it."

"Did you truly have no help with the memory charms?"

A mildly offended frown greeted that question. "Why would I _lie_? I... I didn't tell Harry and Ron because I didn't want to get anybody's hopes' up, but I actually started looking into neuroscience and magics in fifth year, after I learned about Neville's parents. And it's absolutely fascinating! So I had already covered a lot of material before I even considered altering my parents' memories."

Narcissa stared at the witch in appraisal. "A theory for healing the Longbottoms?"

"Yes: transfigurations. Get the damaged part of the brain separated from the rest, cut the bad out. Pray the brain can remodel itself. It's already done with some types of cancer, although never brain, the brain... like you said, we need Dark Arts and... the Longbottoms could end up very healthy but wiped, like newborns... It's one of the things I want to look into but it's such a huge undertaking. Minerva's been making some inquiries with other transfigurations masters. The problem is... with Dark Arts, you have to really _want_ it to happen, and someone who doesn't care about the Longbottoms... Still, it's better than nothing. It's going to take a couple of years at least, though." That fact seemed to do little to dim Hermione's obvious enthusiasm. "I... I still haven't told Neville."

"And you still have time to teach?" Narcissa teased with a small smile.

A furious blush colored the younger witch's cheeks. "I don't think I'm doing too bad at it, but... not my life's calling. I... I understand Snape better now. I haven't called anyone a _dunderhead_ to their face, but... I like discussing advanced magic more than I do seeing children improve and learn, which is a bit of a problem." She grimaced. "The students notice. They're scared of me."

"You _want_ them scared."

"Yes, it keeps them quiet and obedient," Hermione said, biting back a rueful smile. "But I do envy Penny. She makes teaching sound so... gratifying, whereas I've been sending letters to my old nannies to apologize for having been such a... Well, let's just say I appreciate them better now."

Nannies? After a pause Narcissa recalled the word from conversations she'd had with Regulus. "Are nannies not... a staple of wealth among muggles? I'd understood your parents were tooth healers."

An shadow crossed Hermione's face. "Of course you did... Everybody just assumed-. Nobody ever cared to ask what-" she stopped muttering and swallowed back her exasperation. "Dentists earn a lot. Mum and Dad both had their own practices in London, and Mum later joined a dental clinic. She became clinical director." Hermione sighed. "I went to an expensive school as a child, full of kids with rich parents. We had a cook, a cleaning lady, a nanny... I saw my parents a full day a week and perhaps an hour a day or so." She smiled softly. "They always made a point to make sure we had great holidays together to catch up on lost time. We went to ski in Chile when I was ten years old."

"It doesn't sound like an unhappy childhood." _A little lonely perhaps._

Hermione shook her head with a smile. "No, it wasn't. But they had me in their early forties, probably out of fear they'd regret being childless more than because they wanted a kid. I was sort of squeezed in, you know? Magic made things complicated... In the muggle world Mum and Dad are important, but here they're nobody. Suddenly my future had become this big question mark for them. They're used to understanding everything and being in control. They hated that they felt ill-equipped to guide me, so I... lied. About a lot of things. Funny how I could be so brave for some things and how beautifully I cocked everything up with my own parents."

"So you're telling me that you're the muggle version of old blood."

Hermione snorted. "No. Wouldn't that be somebody whose great-gran had a manor, a title and a houseful of servants? I'm... my parents are the lower upper-class, the rising highly-educated professionals. In my primary school, there were many kids who felt the world was theirs just because they'd been born with a silver spoon in their mouths. I was... always eager to put them in their place. I mean, honestly, most of them couldn't even sum double digits at six years old." Self-deprecation was obvious in her tone. "I was terrible at making friends. My parents meant well when they said it was _the others_ who were immature, but I had no modesty and no patience. I _also_ thought the world would be mine, but because I'm _smart_."

Narcissa smiled indulgently. Now she understood why the girl had always been so outspoken and eager to take up a cause. It wasn't just her personality, she came from a background where people had power and were listened to.

Sadness filled Hermione's gaze. "They were _thrilled_ when I started showing an interest for neuroscience. It was something we could explore together." She took a deep breath. "Narcissa, I'm not expecting you to do this for me. You have a lot on your plate already. I... I realize now I need to get over myself and _ask_ people. I bet Bill knows a lot, Fleur's remarkably clever and already offered to introduce me officially to Madame Maxime..."

"I am busy," Narcissa acknowledged. "_But_, I still want to read what you found. Meda probably will too."

"Of course you do, it's dead interesting!" Hermione grinned. "I fear I'm still not modest, and I talk too much."

"You're exhausting," Narcissa agreed, her eyes warm. "But all things considered, it's a flaw I can put up with."

During the first months of their acquaintance, Hermione Granger's exuberance, her passionate judgments, her long breathless tirades, her sheer _emotionality_, had irritated Narcissa enough to distract her from the witch's qualities. It had taken Harry's exasperated _'she wasn't raised to be a hypocritical pureblood who talks in subtext more than in words,'_ for Narcissa to realize it might be _she_ who had a problem. She and Hermione Granger would never be best friends, but it had become much easier to overlook _how _Hermione said things and focus on all the interesting things she actually said.

* * *

It was Friday night. A day a week and two weekends a month, Narcissa would leave the castle to spend time with her family. She shoved a stack of essays she'd not found the courage to mark during the week in her bag and, her Nimbus 2001 in hand, warded her office shut. This would be her last free weekend before Yule, and as much as she enjoyed teaching, she was looking forward to the holidays.

Rain beat violently against the windows. Narcissa shuddered despite her thick cloak as she stepped into the stormy grounds. Cloaked in a water-repelling bubble, she struggled to see two yards in front of her.

A flash of light had her turn. Thunder tore through air less than two seconds later, and she gingerly mounted her broom, impatient to get to somewhere she could apparate.

She kicked off the ground, flying low, and accelerated.

The air was knocked out of her as she slammed against an invisible barrier. She fumbled for her wand and gasped, her scream swallowed by mud as she crashed head-first into the grass.

Her vision swam. _Her wand! where-_ Silence suddenly deafened her. She couldn't hear. She couldn't make a sound.

Shock and fear wrapped her in a shield and sharpened her senses. But there was only so much she could do wandlessly. Warmth spread over her limbs and she wanted to scream because a warming charm was _not_ was she needed right now, she needed her wa-

A shadow the size of a large owl appeared in the rain. It shimmered, betraying an inexpert glamour. Conjuration, familiar... the weather was too awful to tell, but that was _her wand_ in its thick claws. Narcissa screamed soundlessly as the wand who'd been an extension of her fingers since her eleventh birthday broke into shards.

Freezing rain immediately drenched her, stealing her breath away. Blood dribbled down her temple. Still dazed by her violent fall, she knew she couldn't fight her panic without losing her only source of magic. In this state, even a teenager could beat her. She had to get out of here.

She had no idea where was the castle and where were the wards. She just willed herself to _move_.

The wandless displacement spell jerked her so violently she almost lost consciousness.

Seconds, minutes, she had no idea how long her magic carried her. Exhausted and light-headed, she crashed against something hard. _Wood_. The rain was... slightly less overwhelming. Dark branches hid the clouds from her.

She blinked and belatedly realized she had to be in the Forbidden Forest. _Morgana_. She opened her mouth but the silencing spell had been specifically cast on _her_.

Her head splitting, her vision swimming, and convinced the edge of the wards _couldn't_ be far, Narcissa began to run deeper into the trees. A low-hanging branch sliced her cheek, tearing a hiss from her lips. She stumbled forward, not wanting to slow. _If whoever had attacked her had used a tracing spell..._ New panic welled inside her, and tears began seeping out of her eyes as her depleted magic failed to break the silence.

She fell. Rainwater and blood filling her eyes, she couldn't see what she'd fallen against. Something slick and slippery burned her palms. Sudden weakness stole her ability to move. Gasping for breath, she lost consciousness.

* * *

**It had been a while since I finished on a cliffhanger. I didn't want you to get bored *evil grin*.**


	29. N: The Cycle of Pain

The bed was soft, softer than she was used to, the smells foreign. Narcissa only had a distant, nauseous awareness of her body.

A blurred figure moved not far from her. Slowly, her vision cleared. She was in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing. Andromeda sat at the edge of the bed, her smile relieved.

"Hello, little sister. You overreacted."

"What?" Narcissa mumbled, exhaustion keeping her deeply tucked under the covers.

"She just wanted to break your wand, apparently. She had not taken into account that you can cast wandlessly."

_She -_ "Who?"

"A student. I didn't ask who. I was afraid I would do something people would have frowned upon."

_Flying in the storm. That invisible barrier. The fall. Pain, mud. Her wand, snapped. Panic. The forest. More pain. Then darkness._

The fog in Narcissa's mind was beginning to dissipate. "Would _I _have frowned upon it?"

Andromeda's lips quirked. "Probably not."

Her sister was close, and yet the effort it took to raise her hand and grasp the edge of her robes left Narcissa gasping for breath. "What happened? Who found me?"

"Hogwarts' house-elves apparated you back covered with some venomous substance from the forest. You were magically exhausted, your body just shut down. It's Sunday afternoon."

_Two whole days_. A shiver ran up Narcissa's spine.

"Narcissa!" Poppy exclaimed, her white robes flapping as she hurried over. "Oh good!"

"Do _you_ know who attacked me?"

Poppy's smile faltered. "They need help. What have we done to help people _grieve_? There's just not enough mind-healers..."

"Do I need to show empathy to whoever tried to murder me _today_, or can I wait until I am able to walk to take the moral high ground?"

Poppy chuckled ruefully. "I know it doesn't help, Narcissa, but she didn't mean to murder you."

_No_. Narcissa had just _overreacted_ to an attack during a storm. She'd stupidly figured someone who'd break her wand would also want to break _her_.

"I need to cast my diagnostics. You should go find Mr. Potter, Lady Black. He made me promise to send him word and your sister might not be awake in another hour."

"Who was it?" Narcissa whispered once Meda was gone. "I'm not going anywhere, just tell me."

A pained frown dug deep lines in the matron's face. "Lucia Greengrass," she said after a time. "She is to be expelled tonight."

Narcissa sunk deeper in the mattress, hollowness invading her chest. _Why?_ Those Greengrasses had barely been involved with Death Eaters and never been targets of the Order of the Phoenix. They'd come out alive, physically, economically, and even socially. And yet… Lucia's hateful glare the day Narcissa had found Astoria and her friends playing music, that stubborn quietness is class… _What else had she missed?_

"I'm so sorry. You must think I should be more outraged." Poppy wouldn't meet her eyes. "I-"

"I'm not asking you to hate any student," Narcissa said tiredly. _Morgana, she was more helpless than a baby kneazle_. "You were there during that year."

"We all have nightmares, but the kids... I've never had so many asks for sleeping aids." The matron summoned a couple of potions and began pouring one out in a copper cup. An odd expression crossed her face as she put the empty vial down. "This one is one of the last Severus brewed. I won't claim I suspected Albus had orchestrated it all, but I did believe that Severus was a reluctant servant. He just... conveniently forgot so many of the things he could have used to make our lives more difficult. So I asked for things, potions mostly, when I needed them, just like I had always done."

That Narcissa hadn't known. "He must have been grateful for that."

"I'm fine," Poppy said, with a soft smile that made Narcissa actually believe her. "But I know I'll dream of him for quite a time. It haunts me, to think of what the kids must dream of."

Narcissa didn't want to think of it. Her own sanity hung on to that selfishness.

* * *

For a couple more days, Narcissa floated in and out of sleep. She got told off by Pansy for having grown complacent and let her guard down, listened to Harry ramble as if any of this was _his _fault, and had Minerva assure her the Hospital Wing was safe.

Narcissa kept waking to an increasing pile of cards. Some came from students she'd known liked her, others surprised her. Dozens came with only a single line '_This wasn't okay._' with stamped house sigils and initials. Lions, eagles and badgers piled over and around the snakes, and she dared believe she was still welcome at Hogwarts.

When her eyes fluttered open on the fifth day, she almost felt like herself. The dim magical lights told her that the winter sun had yet to rise, and that classes would not begin for hours still.

She felt watched. Gingerly, she sat up, searching for a presence in the gloom.

"Hello, Narcissa."

She started, surprise, _good _surprise, making her heart race. A familiar male hand grabbed hers and gently helped her upright.

Her smile broadened as she gazed upon her son's face. But it was wrong. The way he'd spoken. His touch. The way he held himself. The way he looked at her.

"Lucius," she breathed. "You came." She hadn't seen him since the Summer. She'd never realized how cruelly expensive international portkeys were until she'd had to start working for money.

"Of course I did. Shall I steal you from here? You look better than I feared."

Her long nightdress became robes, an illusion of those velvet-lined, expensive robes that would now forever be something Narcissa had _used to_ buy. He lent her his wand and she could finally untangle her mess of hair and feel like she hadn't spent a week sweating toxins with her face shoved in a pillow.

Despite her bare feet, she felt like he was taking her to the Yule Ball. Many old-blood mages were ostentatious in company, but even in private Lucius had never quite stopped behaving as if they were courting. It should matter little, compared to the disaster his associations had brought upon their family, and yet it made it so much easier to forget her resentment and to remember why she had wanted _him_.

He let her lead him to an open study room with a beautiful view of the starlit grounds. As soon as he erected privacy wards, a glamour covered his polyjuiced form with his true appearance.

Narcissa's smile deepened. His true appearance, yes, but with a solid decade erased. She leaned over to kiss his lips, clinging onto him as much from lingering exhaustion as from longing.

"You still want to teach here?" he asked as they gazed upon the inky blackness of the lake, his arm around her waist.

_I wish you'd come to stay with me,_ she heard. "Yes," she simply said.

It was this wedge between them : Britain. The country where Lucius would forever be the disgraced Death Eater, somewhere between criminal and victim. In Mauritania, Lucius had not only seen a mind-healer, he'd gotten involved in trade and exports, joining a vibrant international merchant community that valued his talents more than it cared for his past. It was obvious he was thriving, for all that adopting a working man's rhythm and being only one among equals had taken some adjustments.

"You need this," Lucius agreed after a time, his gray eyes tight. "Remaking Britain, your sister, the children... Those who don't yet admire you soon will." He sighed. "I contemplated it, a future where we'd go our separate ways. I know Draco warned you about Durra, but she's not the threat he fears. She's a delightful, attractive, willing woman who never saw me weak and who... made me realize I still feel quite married."

Narcissa laughed softly. "I refuse to apologize. I'm glad you didn't come to tell me on my hospital bed that you were leaving."

Lucius looked horrified at the prospect. "I've arguably been evil, but coarse? Please." He kissed her knuckles and she giggled like a girl.

_Morgana, she was glad to see him. _He shouldn't be here. The Ministry had been more eager to get their hands on the Malfoy fortune than to send him to Azkaban. Nevertheless, during those last months in England, Lucius had been forbidden to leave the Manor's grounds. To be here, he should have first demanded permission to return to the country and consented to constant auror supervision. Impersonating their son to get a portkey clearance, coming to Hogwarts… This was so terribly illegal.

"On the topic of evil," her husband added, "shall we plot revenge or is that too... _passé_?"

"She's a child. We'll use this to diffuse tensions and avoid new incidents."

"Darling, there's planning for a wholesome future, and there's making sure no witch and wizard will dare act against you. There always will be _somebody _who loathes you. There must have been at least whispering voices pushing the girl."

_At least one adult that Narcissa could socially tear down_. It was nice, to have someone wholly on _her _side. She kissed him again, a sigh escaping her as his warm lips hungrily sought hers, his fingers curling into her hair.

"They underestimate you," he said in the crook of her neck. "I trust you to navigate your revenge in a way that will serve your new friends' interests. Or... in Gryffindor terms, sit well with their principles."

Narcissa leaned closer. She'd missed this feeling of _impunity_. This lack of worry about what others would say or think, about what was allowed. Once upon a time, _they_ had made the rules.

"Is Draco aware of… _this_?"

A shadow crossed Lucius' face. He took a step back, not quite facing her anymore. "I did not involve him and he chose not to notice. I suspect he's more concerned for the two of us than we are. I... I'm not sure how to talk to him of it. He... He used to boast to all that I was more powerful than the Minister, and now he seems to be waiting for me to fail him again, and to fail _you_."

"These things take time," she softly said.

Lucius bowed his head, stubborn pride giving an angry glint to his eyes. "It's frustrating but perhaps I do deserve it."

Abruptly, he dispelled the glamour, pulling her behind him as the door slammed open, as if there had never been a ward. A disheveled Harry and an irate Minerva McGonagall stepped through.

"Give me your wand before I hex you off the grounds, Lucius Malfoy," the Headmistress said through clenched teeth. "The arrogance! After everything that has happened in this castle, you think I wouldn't _know_. A favor, take it as a _huge _favor, that instead of rushing here, I went to wake Mr. Potter and took my time."

Her husband's eyes darted to her, Narcissa inclined her head apologetically. It's not like Lucius could start dueling Minerva.

Faced with his former professor's ire, Draco would have looked abashed. As he surrendered his wand with deliberate slowness, Lucius in Draco's skin looked instead like he was indulging the older witch, which only infuriated her further.

"I am not _covering _for you, you fools. Gone are the days Hogwarts' safety is entrusted to the Headmaster alone. The list of those who come and go in the grounds are visible to the Board of Governors."

_The Board_. Narcissa swayed, her exhaustion catching up to her as she realized _everyone _would know by breakfast.

The Headmistress slapped a potion in Lucius' hand. "Now drink this. It's a mass dispel. If you're imperioed or… Just drink the bloody potion."

It was a much paler Lucius that was revealed as every spell, from the polyjuice to everyday cosmetic glamours, was stripped from him. Even the thin scar on his cheek, courtesy of McNair after Lucius had lost the Dark Lord's favor, was plain for all to see.

"Still yourself?" Minerva said, her lips pinched.

"I've never been so much myself, Headmistress. I assure you I only wanted to see my wife."

"Good. It won't damn you, considering the circumstances. I hope it was worth it, lovebirds."

Being called _lovebirds_ in such an exasperated tone by her former Transfigurations Professor made Narcissa feel like a disobedient child. And that was utterly unacceptable.

"Might have been," she said with forced lightness, "had you given us twenty more minutes."

Harry coughed, reddening. _Morgana, the lad was too old to be so easily flustered._ Minerva's gaze softened just enough to prove she might have led it all go had it just been up to her.

"Why bring Mr. Potter? Greetings, by the way."

"Hi, Malfoy," Harry said with the callous grumpiness of someone who'd been counting on two more hours of sleep.

"Because your wife trusts him and I need your cooperation. You're just about to spend a few days with a lot of important people scowling at you. Stay civil and you'll be fine." Minerva's lips quirked drily as she turned to Narcissa. "I don't imagine there's a vault you inherited from the Black side that we can seize?"

_Why were people so convinced she had a secret hoard of galleons somewhere?_ "Father was in debt when he got himself killed in Mexico, and he had made a point to leave a will disowning me. He never forgave me for not letting him live with us at the Manor." As for Cassiopeia, she had vanished somewhere in Europe in the year after the first war. As was Gringotts' policy, the goblins had declared her dead after a decade of non-contact, in the early nineties. In absence of direct heirs and a will, the witch's assets had been frozen. The sums hadn't been large enough for Narcissa to bother to try to claim them. Narcissa's last owls, sent in the late eighties, had returned exhausted and frustrated. They had been of the most expensive breed, specifically trained to find people who had disappeared and left no addresses. She and Lucius had organized a funeral ceremony shortly later. It had seemed the proper thing to do.

"I can't believe your Father thought you'd let him stay with you," Harry muttered.

"Oh, you'd be surprised how a strong sense of entitlement makes people able to utterly disregard reality, Mr. Potter."

Minerva was staring straight at Lucius as she spoke, all pretense of subtlety forgotten (but then when had Gryffindors ever been subtle? This was righteousness at its finest).

"I'm still glad you came," Narcissa said pointedly, slipping her hand back into her husband's. "Harry dear, your buttons are attached unevenly."

Harry stared down at the robes he'd thrown over his pajamas and scowled at the sartorial disaster. "Did Poppy say you were allowed to leave the hospital wing today? If not, you won't hear the end of it."

Honestly, Narcissa just wanted to lie down. Her earlier burst of energy had faded into the now infuriatingly familiar weakness. But even in this new world, appearances mattered very much, so she made sure not to slouch. "Then I'd better let you walk me back and let her cast her diagnostics."

* * *

The aurors were not able to discern any motive to Lucius' presence outside his visit to Narcissa. He had not talked to anyone between Portkey Arrivals and Hogwarts nor cast any spells aside from apparition and appearance alterations. The International Owl Relay confirmed that they hadn't transferred a single letter from Lucius in months. Further investigations revealed he hadn't been in contact with anyone still considered _at risk_ by the new Ministry.

Lucius, of course, did not fail to point out that there had been many past cases where a wizard's duty to assist their spouse had justified minor law breaking. He then started asking after the people who'd accepted the most money from him during the Cornelius Fudge years. _I have already been charged with corruption, but what has happened to them?_ Fudge himself, back at Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and condemned to finish his working years in a mid-level job, must have blanched when aurors came to ask if it was true he had 'forgotten' to mention the sixty thousand galleons Lucius had 'gifted' him between 1992 and 1995. Aurors had then predictably demanded to know why Lucius had withheld such information so long, and he had had no qualms reminding them that he had not been _asked_, and that he was pleasantly surprised to see that the new Ministry was serious about chasing down corruption.

It took less than three days for it to be decided that prolonging the inquiry against Lucius was a waste of time, a security risk, and more trouble than it was worth.

The _Daily Prophet _had made great strides to recover its reputation, yet, comfortably settled on one of the Hospital Wing's couches, Narcissa had to raise an eyebrow as it became clear that the day's edition had devoted a whole column to the fact that she and Lucius used telephones to communicate.

'_In these years of increased open-mindedness, does the Ministry risk being blindsided by the use of muggle technology by former blood supremacists?'_

Had any of those mooncalves ever _tried _to communicate internationally? Owls and bulk portkey shipments took days (and she wasn't naive enough to think any letters she or Lucius wrote would pass the Relay unread), there was no international floo, and the methods diplomats used were unavailable to the common citizen they now were. House elves could have been a solution, but even they could not apparate great distances unless they were bound to the person they appeared to.

'_Here I am trying to picture Lucius Malfoy, disguised as a common muggle, walking up to a phone booth and dialing numbers, no doubt contemplating how his magic has been surpassed by muggle ingenuity.'_

Narcissa was too well bred to roll her eyes. Even Andromeda, who held low expectations of Lucius, had not been surprised he'd readily welcomed her suggestion (oh, Meda had been _smug_, but Narcissa could forgive her that).

"So, you actually _are _still with your husband."

Startled, Narcissa reached out with her magic by reflex.

Demelza Robins gaped as her wand was yanked out of her robes and zoomed towards Narcissa.

Narcissa herself stared at the wand now in her lap, her heart racing painfully. Disproportionately painfully. She took a slow breath, recognizing her outsized panic for what it was. You didn't drain yourself using Dark Arts without lingering effects. It had barely been a week.

"I wasn't going to hurt you, Professor," Robins whispered, a question in her eyes as she slowly walked over to take her wand back. "I never _wanted _you hurt, you know. I just came to drop off some potions." Narcissa eyed the black-haired young woman warily. It was 7 AM. _Who woke up that early to deliver - _"I want to become a mind-healer. There's some basic healer stuff to master before I can specialize, so Poppy agreed to tutor me to give me a leg up."

_Oh_. "We need those, mind-healers." _What a trite thing to say. _

But the Gryffindor smiled tightly. "I got lucky, no wounds, my family's fine… The war was awful but it's also the past, you know? It doesn't cling to me like it does to some of the others. So I should help. I want to help."

_And what did one say to _that_? _"That's good."

Robins narrowed her eyes at her. "You must love him then. It does sound like he loves you."

Thrown back decades in the past, Narcissa recalled a wide-eyed young Regulus, asking a similar question not so far from these very rooms. Except this time, her answer held no uncertainty. "Yes. And of course he does."

"Guess nobody's perfect," Robins muttered, but there was no bite to her voice. She shook her head. "Astoria's working up the courage to come talk to you. She didn't share but I think she's figured out what's up with her cousin."

"So she did suspect-"

"_Nooooo_," Robins said, as if it was a ridiculous thing. "Tory likes you. Honestly, had _I _suspected something like this, I'd have told Prof. Weasley. We don't need this shit. You- you don't deserve _this_," she said with an expansive gesture at the walls around them.

"I'm happy to hear you say so. I hope the others will feel the same."

Robins rolled her eyes. "You Slytherins need to knock it off with the persecution complex."

_Persecution complex? _"It's a _lack _of paranoia that let a sixteen year old catch me by surprise."

Robins blushed at Narcissa's pointed tone. "Okay, but Lucia lost it, Ma'am. Even those who hate you, they hate you normally. Like, they'll laugh if you trip and fall over in class. They'll gossip. They won't, say, poison your food or..." a mischievous glint entered Robins' dark eyes, "fake a relationship to break a guy's heart and make him fail his OWLs."

Narcissa blinked. _Gossip _alright. "I'm flattered that story is still being told," she said with a small smile. Hate her _normally_. That word meant nothing and everything, and unexpectedly warmed her.

"I was kind of hoping you'd tell me it was grossly exaggerated, Prof. Because it's insane."

_Insane. Had it been?_ Perhaps, yes. A girl like Demelza Robins would have no doubt just hexed Vance for his lewd comments and left it at that.

Narcissa simply smiled. A bit of mystery was needed to keep the students in line. "You wouldn't want to miss breakfast, Miss Robins."

Poppy was soon back with the results of last night's blood samples. The ones who would tell her if all traces of poison had been purged from her system. "All good," the matron announced brightly. "Last restful day and you're back to teaching the little monsters. We have a couple of wands in stock if you need one."

"I'll go buy one tonight, thank you." She'd waited because… because she didn't need a good reason to want to avoid Garrick Ollivanders, and she didn't have a good enough reason to buy a wand from someone who wasn't the best wand-maker in the Isles. She'd been happy to distract herself with Meda, Reggie and the kids during the last couple of days (and grumble because it was such a _waste _to have Lucius in England and not be allowed to visit). She'd written Ollivanders, and he'd answered she was welcome in his shop. She almost wished he'd told her to stay away.

Narcissa nevertheless walked to the dungeons more serene than she'd been in days, intent on intercepting Astoria Greengrass before the girl left for class. She doubted learning Lucia's motives would be enough to convince her that no other student wished her ill to the point of raising a wand to her, but at least -

Her train of thought was stolen away by an odd shimmer. She reached for a wand that obviously wasn't there and bit back a sigh. She turned to the nearest portrait, a grouchy-looking red-haired witch that was trying to drown a overly large centipede in a cauldron with her ladle.

"Didn't see anybody cast anything," the witch said without lifting her intent eyes off the flailing monstrous insect.

The shimmer was stronger if anything. Almost a presence. _Was a disillusioned student toying with her?_

But just like Hogwarts' stairs often seemed to guess where Narcissa wanted to go, someone soon appeared, or more accurately, _floated _towards her, his ghostly medieval robes reflecting the enchanted torches.

"Greetings, Baron. I'm curious, can you see if this is a ward, or simple residual magic?"

The ghost reached forward and to her surprise seemed to latch onto something. For a second, the shimmer became an almost humanoid outline. Someone short, perhaps a boy.

"Almost here, lad," the Baron whispered, his free hand curling his mustache in fascination. His deep voice echoed slightly, as if from another age. "A guardian that one. He's latched onto you."

"I don't understand."

"The exorcism that was done after the battle made the castle uncomfortable, even for us. Its effects linger still. This one is struggling to manifest." Slight outrage bled from his otherwise slow and measured tones. "Every ghost has and anchor, a purpose. Hogwarts screamed when blood was shed on its stones and this one answered."

_A ghost from the war? Who - _"Can you help them?"

"No, but perhaps you can, my lady."

"How?" Narcissa breathed.

The almost-ghost suddenly shimmered more brightly. A distinctive _pop _had Narcissa look to the ground.

"Another?" the elf's squeaky voice exclaimed, her eyes wide in alarm. "Where? Where is we needed?"

Narcissa blinked. After Meda had told her elves had rescued her, she'd assumed the wards themselves had somehow detected her distress. She'd not thought to ask- _Morgana, she didn't learn, did she? _Hogwarts' elves were intimately linked with the castle and apparently, they could _hear _this spirit.

"You're needed here," Narcissa said. "This ghost needs help, it can't stay like this."

The elf peered at the shimmer, her long ears drooping. "Elf magic needs orders. A professor's words not being strong enough for Lonny to work such magics."

"Then get the Headmistress, she'll want to be bothered for this." Lonny disappeared, leaving Narcissa with a thousand more questions. _Could it be that Dennis had been right? _"Is that you Mr. Creevey?"

Again, the presence seemed to gain definition. _Morgana. It really was._

"Why could he not manifest before his brother?"

"Guardians grow stronger when they are needed."

_Poor Dennis _had _needed -._

The corridor suddenly became cramped as Minerva popped into view. Lonny was soon followed by four other elves.

The older woman seemed to both straighten and wilt when Narcissa had finished explaining. Sadness and pride warred on her lined face.

"Oh, child," she whispered, "it shouldn't have been your responsibility. Well," Minerva told the elves crisply, "I want him to be able to talk to me."

Five heads snapped to the ghost, as if whipped into action by synchronized imperius curses.

Narcissa had been outside during the Battle for Hogwarts. She had seen the barrier of wards, the animated statues. She had stepped on grass grown hard and hooked, struggled to walk into sticky unnatural mud, and wrapped herself in charms to breathe despite the choking wind howling against the Death Eater's brooms. But she had not been at the heart of Hogwarts, and so it was the first time that she felt it, the stirring of millennia old enchantments strengthened by generations of wizards and witches that had loved these walls like a second home. The magic surged around her, dwarfing hers. She shivered, instinctive awe and terror leaving her lightheaded.

It was over in seconds. A translucent boy of seventeen, with the same mousy hair and slight build as his brother stood before them, and spoke. "Nobody will be killed at Hogwarts ever again."

Narcissa's hand grasped Minerva's arm, and it wasn't clear who was steadying whom.

"Thank you, Colin," she managed.

The broad grin was much at odds with his previous solemn announcement. "It's nothing. I'd pictured Malfoy's mum as someone much nastier."

Narcissa sucked in a breath. "Was my son _truly _such a terror, Minerva?"

The witch's cheeks pinched, as if to swallow back a laugh. "He had a power complex and muggleborn students were often the butt of it." Minerva decided to take pity on her. "He was full of words but rarely hexed other students. He always put reasonable effort in his classwork."

What _glowing _praise.

"I didn't like you much either when you were a student, Narcissa," Minerva said with a shrug. "And look, you turned out fine."

And now the witch, her _boss_, was teasing her. _Brilliant_.

Next to them, Colin Creevey smiled, a boy's happy smile, almost carefree.

Minerva cleared her throat. "Please get Dennis down here, Lonny."

Dennis, amazingly, took it all in stride. "You always wanted to be a superhero," he said, his eyes bright as he grinned right back at his big brother. "I need to get the camera. Mum and Dad won't believe this."

* * *

Slightly dazed, Narcissa was still smiling as the wall slid into itself to reveal the Slytherin common room. It hadn't changed all that much since her school years, the ever-present greens and silvers, the muted magical lights that gave it a feel of being underwater, the sprawling couches and thick armchairs that belonged to another age. Only nowadays, the whole room stilled when she entered it.

"I'm looking for Astoria. She's not in trouble." They all kept staring at her. "Yes, I'm _fine_. Now, is she in her dorm and if so, which one is it?"

The students quickly busied themselves with whatever they had been doing (adding panicked last touches to essays due today for all too many of them), but many were biting back smiles.

Prefect Twycross came up to her. "She just came back from breakfast. This way, Professor."

Her light brown hair tied back, Astoria had been packing her bag for the morning classes. She jumped upon seeing Narcissa, and then looked upset at herself for startling so easily.

The seventh-year cleared her throat. "Serves me right for not coming sooner." She glared pointedly at her two dorm-mates and Twycross until she and Narcissa were alone. With a tense smile, she pulled an envelope out of her trunk and handed it to Narcissa.

"That's not just an apology, Professor, it's quite self-serving too."

Narcissa blinked as she discovered two return portkey tickets for Mauritania valid for the Yule period.

"You promised me a contact at the Chinguetti orchestra, and well… I checked with your sister. She said you had no plans for the holidays and that you'd be happy to see your family. I'm of age, I can keep myself busy if you don't want me underfoot."

Narcissa shook her head slightly. _Astoria and Andromeda, plotting behind her back. And Astoria buying expensive things when she felt guilty._ How very old-blood Slytherin of her.

"I don't blame you."

"I know, Harry Potter told me. He's kind." Astoria crossed her arms, lips twisting in distaste. "I had all the clues and didn't see it. You _are _truly recovered? Novgorod has a great hospital and portkey system. It's where my great-grandfather went last year."

"Your family doesn't trust Saint Mungo's?" It was telling that Minerva hadn't even considered moving Narcissa there. The medimages had seen horrors during the war and while most would never endanger a patient, some had snapped, forgetting the line between justice and revenge. Theodore Nott's mother had died in the hospital just after the war in very dubious circumstances.

"None of us were marked, but come on, we collaborated," Astoria said bitterly. "It was the safe thing to do. The other side didn't kill you for not helping them." With a wave of her hand, she signaled she didn't want to talk further of it. "I assume you came to ask me why?"

Narcissa nodded.

"Lucia dated a muggleborn in her third year, Daniel Webster. He was in my year. Funny guy, sweet. She was head over heels for him. Still is. My aunt and uncle hate him on principle of course… Daniel got his wand snapped."

Narcissa shut her eyes briefly and went to sit on the bed. She could now almost fill in the blanks herself.

"He managed to get out of Britain in time but his parents never did. He's at Beauxbatons now. He had to repeat a year to be accepted there, and learn French, but he didn't want to come back. He won't reply to Lucia's owls. I think he asked her to run away with him during the war… She can't get over the fact you look happy."

"Whereas _she_ can't be."

Astoria hummed in agreement as she let herself fall next to her Head of House. "I don't get why _you_, but she decided you deserved to be shown what it felt like, to lose your wand."

Narcissa couldn't deny she was angry, furious even, _but_, had someone come between her and Lucius before they'd married… Nobody would have found the body. As to why _her_… No doubt because Narcissa had been _there_, and Lucia had been desperate for someone to blame.

"She knew she'd be expelled... She plans to go to Beauxbatons."

_Of course she did._ "Will Beauxbatons accept her?"

"I think so." Narcissa frowned. Astoria's tone said _I know so._ "She's been in contact with muggleborn, older ones too, some who moved to France after the first war and who became important over there." The young woman's jaw clenched. "Maybe they didn't encourage her to do anything to _you_, but they sure told her she was right to be angry."

A sudden hollow sense of _waste _tasted bitter in Narcissa's throat. She had almost lost her son because of vengeance taken by muggleborn. They'd stolen her ability to bear children. And now, again, crimes against a muggleborn had indirectly almost caused her death. It had been so easy to dismiss _mudbloods _as irrelevant, and now she could not escape the consequences of such callousness. _Did it ever end, this cycle of pain? _

"It's not enough for them," Astoria muttered. "Some of the muggleborn consider everyone who wasn't directly opposed to Riddle guilty. They want greater reparations than just being told they'll now get an equal chance at jobs or that even the wealthy and powerful will have to respect the law."

Lucius was right. There was a lot of leftover pain and anger from the war and Narcissa couldn't afford to stay a target. She had to do _something_.

Something effective. Something _legal_.

First, she needed a wand.

* * *

**This 'post-war' arc aims to show how the living Blacks are fitting in this changed wizarding world. I'm having fun writing it, I've edited the summary and the first chapter intro to make sure people realize what they're getting into. **

**Like it, hate it, bored? I want to hear it all^^.**


	30. N: The Wand and the Grandfather

**Author's Note :** Hi everyone, sorry for the delay. Good news is, I've mostly worked out the ending of this story and how I want to wrap up all the main characters' story lines (it'll be 4-5 more chapters including this one, some may end up being split in half). I was getting a little bogged down in the society issues and I realized I was tangling myself up trying to figure out how to bring up or fix everything that had led to the war. Things started to fit back together in a nicer way when I decided to keep this more character-driven and not go overboard with the world-building.

I also went back and tweaked some things (background details, nothing in the main plots) to keep everything coherent and add a dash of foreshadowing. That'll teach me to not plan ahead.

* * *

**Nineteen years ago - January 1981 (10 months before Voldemort's first defeat). **

_How dare they!_

Narcissa had always been wary of fury. Bella and cousin Sirius were the angry ones, and what had that done for them?

Her pale hands shook as she dressed herself with a few wand-strokes. The baby's kicks had been firm; now her tense womb was silent. Severus knew his potions, and the diagnosis spells didn't lie. _'He's healthy, Narcissa'._ Yet her instincts screamed.

In her dreams, her swollen body was a tomb, her unborn child dead.

Soft steps against the Italian marble announced Lucius' arrival. Narcissa hadn't visited her husband's rooms since he'd come home with that repulsive brand on his arm. His fingers brushed her lower back, steadying her.

She could have shook him off with a cold glare. She clasped her fingers together under her bulging stomach instead. The mink fur linings of her long blue robes failed to warm her skin.

_Andromeda, Sirius, Reggie, and now- _Narcissa had been swallowing back screams of rage for half her life now it seemed. And what had that done for her?

"Bellatrix is here. I told her you'd be down for breakfast soon."

"I'm ready," Narcissa said, not meeting Lucius' eyes.

She could feel him stiffen, hurt by the constant rejection. It wasn't satisfying at all.

"I don't want to keep fighting," she admitted. He smiled, that affectionate thin smile, as she linked his arm in his. Once, there had been no cracks in his smooth confidence. Nowadays, his eyes lingered on her a little too long. "Are you alright, Lucius?"

His smile tightened. "I won't let anyone, or anything, ruin us."

'_Us_', rolling off his tongue like it was paramount. As it should be. As if there wasn't a pulsing black snake on his arm binding him to another.

Malfoy Manor was where Narcissa was supposed to be happy. "I'm tired of punishing us." She had made her point, and there was no removing the Dark Mark.

In the dining room, her sister hadn't waited for them. Bellatrix licked milky tea off her full lips. Her robes were tight-woven black-and-lace, as if every day was a reception. A hint of reddish Dark-taint gave a feverish glow to her eyes.

"Your mudbloods have long scurried away, but I did find who helped them to the continent." Bella's smirk became a sinister grin, a promise of indescribable pain. "The Prewett boys."

Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Twins with broad shoulders and easy smiles. Sharp-tongued young men with that Gryffindor love of attention. Old-blood light mages. Skilled aurors.

_You spoke of power once, Bella. You dreamed of a world where you would be just one among many talented mages. You called people weak for bowing to politicians and those weaker than them. Why are you now so eager to kill the driven and powerful that Albus Dumbledore has gathered around him?_

But those whispers were too weak against the bottomless pit of rage that burned Narcissa's muscles and twisted her insides.

She'd acted docile for so long, biding her time, setting the board to have a life that would be finally hers. A family of her own. A family united, unafraid, loving.

They'd taken that from her.

"Auror schedules aren't so secret as the Ministry thinks," Lucius' voice was unyielding and cold, but the way his eyes paused on Narcissa's stomach betrayed she wasn't the only one struggling. "I'll help you find them."

"Silly boys, refusing to resign," Bellatrix tutted. "Could they be such idealists? Maybe it's just that the Order doesn't pay. Never has so much gold been heaped on aurors..." She stood up and stared at Narcissa beseechingly. "Cissy, those blood-traitors have gotten too good at slipping through our fingers. You don't think like me. Help me get them where we want them."

Rage promised power and control. It took your pain and crafted it into a weapon. Narcissa had always been careful. She had tried to be wise. _And for what?_

_Why say no and push away her sister? _The only sister who still sought her out. "Alright, but do pretend to be a civilized guest and let me have my tea first."

Bellatrix blinked. A less dangerous, more familiar light crinkled her eyes. "Oh fine, Lady Malfoy. Shall I ask the elves for cheese slices?"

Lucius and Bella. Her flawed family. But _hers_. They had to stand united, or else what would be left?

"Please." Narcissa laid a hand on Bellatrix's shoulder. "And thank you, for watching out for me."

Bella's sharp smile softened. "We're not little girls anymore, Cissy. We get what we want now."

No. _No, they really didn't._ But revenge Narcissa could get.

* * *

**Back to the present – December 1999**

Clad in gray wool-lined robes as she side-stepped last night's puddles, Narcissa fiddled with her buttons to busy her restless right hand. _A wand is a tool_, beloved, but a _tool_, _replaceable, _she told herself.

But no rationalization could erase the fact it had been broken. That Narcissa had been attacked. The pain, the helplessness, the days of recovery, her husband having to sneak in the country like a thief just to visit her... Narcissa tried to be lucid about her flaws and failings, but she would _not_ be a victim.

The wet winter air clung to her skin as she tried to tame her anger. She'd lost her mind once. _And for what? _It hadn't made her any less barren. Only Lucius was still alive to know what role she had played in the Prewett's capture. Perhaps one day she would tell Draco.

_How did one protect themselves without adding to the world's misery?_

Minerva's disillusionment spell coated her clothes and skin, giving her anonymity in the early morning bustle of Diagon Alley. But today, being invisible grated. _Why?_ Why was it still necessary? Would anything Narcissa did ever be enough? Why would she let people dictate her public appearances? What _right_ did they have to keep judging her?

Narcissa paused before _Ollivanders_'. She willed her feet forward. If the wandmaker could bear her presence, she owed it to him to keep herself together. The door magically swung open. A chiming bell peeled off the charms cloaking her as she stepped inside.

The musky smell of wood and unstable-looking towers of stacked wand-boxes greeted her. As a girl of eleven, Narcissa had already found the gloomy shop cramped. Today her every step had to be carefully calculated to avoid knocking something over.

The creak of a moving ladder had her turn. A thump, as if someone had jumped off, was followed by a flash of dirty-blonde hair behind a nearby shelf.

"He said to expect you," a dreamy voice announced. Luna Lovegood walked up to Narcissa, her ever-wide eyes boldly drinking in her appearance. "It sticks to you, Hogwarts' magic. I'd always wondered why our professors were so bright."

Wrapped in yellow long-sleeved overalls with a map of the world made from tiny birds, Luna was proof that tragic bad taste could be somehow oddly charming. The young witch's smile, not-quite-warm but guileless and intent, was, as always, disarming. "Summon your wand, Mrs. Malfoy. You know how to."

_Yes. She knew how to._ Narcissa reached out with her magic, pretending her old elm wand was there to answer.

A dozen boxes flew forward from every corner of the room. They crashed into nearby stacked towers, causing some to collapse into chaotic piles. Narcissa had to duck to avoid an aggressively fast velvet-lined case.

Luna laughed at the alarming mess. "It's always more fun when it's adults." She hummed as she made a pile with the wands that had answered Narcissa's summons. "All dragon heartstrings… It must be the Dark Arts. Well, Mrs. Malfoy, try them."

_Dragon heartstring, the only wandcore that required a dead creature._ Narcissa had never made the connection before. She held her breath as she picked up the first wand: whitewood, longer than she was accustomed to.

At first, she was tentatively hopeful: her magic flowed through the core with little resistance. Mirror-like shades began to appear before her, a pair of pale smoke-swans, their necks unfurling. The humming wand, cool at first, quickly grew warm. Too warm. Narcissa stifled a gasp, forced to let go.

The dropped oak wand seemed to pulse with... hate.

A frown knit Luna's brow, but she said nothing. Narcissa decided to dismiss the incident and try another wand.

She soon cast it aside. The long elm wand felt cold and reluctant. Almost... judgmental.

The third did not react until Narcissa tried to wake it with a more powerful spell : a lighting charm which would bathe the whole shop in warm candle-light.

The wand hummed alive, only it didn't channel Narcissa's intent into _light_. A whip of flames shot out from its tip and slammed into a shield Luna had hastily erected. A shield inches from Narcissa's face.

"Is this common, in adults?" Increasingly unnerved, Narcissa struggled to keep her voice level. Were dark-aligned wands prone to such games? Again, the wand she clutched seemed to loathe her, its smooth wood somehow slimy and hostile.

There were ten remaining boxes. Luna wordlessly crouched among them and slid out the wands, twirling them between her fingers. Of the ten, the blonde pushed three towards Narcissa. "Those should like you better."

Gnarled wands of ungainly shapes, archaic-looking, so unpolished Narcissa wondered if they hadn't already been used.

She let go of the breath she had been holding when the new wand didn't attack her. In the conjured mirror's reflection, the wandmaker's shop was clean and orderly. The image was convincing, the wand responsive. Only... There was no warmth, no sense that the wand had chosen _her_ specifically. It was the kind of match one was satisfied to find in a family vault, no doubt how Abraxas' wand had felt to Draco when he had had to replace the wand Harry had taken during the war.

The second wand, streaked with light browns, was barely seven inches. It was thick and stiff, as if the wood had refused to bend to the artisan's will. This time, Narcissa felt the urge to grasp it and linger.

The swans glowed golden-white when she cast her illusion. A rush of wind made the stacked boxes quiver as the birds took off. Narcissa blinked, pleased. Her childhood wand had pulsed warm at the first caress. It had felt special and safe. This one… something merry and vindictive seeped from its core. A whispered promise of partnership. It felt more like an arranged marriage than love at first sight.

Narcissa twirled the unfamiliar wood between her fingers. Cracks marred its side and it looked like it had been tortured into its current shape.

"Acacia, seven inches, rigid," a new, older, voice intervened. "A temperamental wand, suited to subtle magics. Tends to play dead when anyone other than its master tries to use it."

Narcissa stiffened despite herself. "Mr. Ollivanders," thankfully, her poise didn't fail her. "I will be taking this one. Did it have another master before me?"

"Oh no. It was one of my first. An experiment if you will. I had less respect for the woods and cores then." His smile was more a baring of teeth, and the mirth crinkling his eyes as much judgement towards his younger self as a pointed statement to Narcissa. "It despises me. Those who attacked you might have been a match, but it seems they bear a grudge against you."

Narcissa flinched. The whip of fire, not because of incompatible magics, but because the wands' maker had been tortured in her home.

"A work of art, Malfoy Manor," Ollivanders mused. "You could have locked Riddle out after he hurt you. Had your husband stayed within the Manor's walls, it would have taken months for the Dark Lord to strip his magic through the mark. Long enough to find a way to weaken their dark bond and buy even years of time... Your son's mark was young, shallow still, he risked even less than your husband."

"We couldn't be sure -"

"No, better let the man torture you, your own child, and others, better be his servants, than take the risk."

_Did you tell me I could come here just to accuse me?_ Narcissa swallowed harsh words. _Never show when their blows strike true_. "Not better," she tightly agreed. "I am now doing my best to not be blind to the choices I have. I am sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

His expression inscrutable, Ollivanders gestured for her to follow him. _Of course_ the man wanted something from her.

Her fingers tight around her gnarled acacia wand, Narcissa followed the white-haired wandmaker deeper into the shop. A fireplace glowed green behind dusty shelves.

Guilt made even simple questions such as _'where are you flooing me to?' _feel like an imposition. Narcissa soothed herself by drinking in Ollivanders' movements: energetic, nimble, with no sign of lingering pain. Nothing indicated his mind wasn't as sharp as ever.

Her destination had high ceilings and marble floors. A dizzying smell of dried plants with musky undertones filled her lungs. Long tables stacked with tail-hair and feathers, shed scales and tooth chips, egg shells and magical components of all kinds. The windows were obscured by curtain-charms to shield the components from light. A thick brownish-red liquid simmered in racks of tiny cauldrons.

Narcissa stilled. _Blood_.

"Muggleborn, most of them. Humors don't make durable wands but recent times have convinced me to be more adventurous."

"What are you using muggleborn-blood for, Master?" Narcissa found herself asking. The terrible bindings that could be made with such -

"My wands last centuries. They are both exquisitely well matched to their owners and possessive. When the occasional wizard or witch would ask me for a spare, I bristled."

_A spare wand._ What a ludicrous concept. Even family wands responded sluggishly if a primary wand-bond was still intact.

The wandmaker's toothy smile didn't reach his eyes. "But in a world where wands are stolen... 'Spares' does not sound like a perversion of the craft anymore."

_Of course._ But to surrender one's own _blood_ for experiments...

"Traditional wands switch masters when theirs is beaten," Luna said, raising her own reddish-brown wand before her eyes as if to inspect it. "These new wands, they will be loyal."

Ollivanders led her to stacks of petrified woods. "Less efficient than fresh woods, but nigh unbreakable." Between two reddish-white logs, large droplets of resin glowed like molten gold.

Narcissa stilled, reminded of a potion she'd herself never taken, too afraid to be disappointed by all that luck _couldn't_ fix.

* * *

**1981, 19 years ago.**

"It's done," Cassiopeia said. "Auror Shacklebolt knows all there is to know. The poor dear is quite fond of his great-uncle."

Dragon Pox had struck hard this year. The Parkinsons, the Macmillans, the Potters, Ombeline Urquhart... Rarely had so many healthy mages in their sixties and seventies perished. Only _Felix Felicis_ could free one's body of the magic-eating plague.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of those decent young men that were, as such, predictable. His grandmother Donna had been taken hostage by the Dark Lord, and recently rescued by Alastor Moody, Potter and Cousin Sirius.

After Cassiopeia Black had told him she had gotten her hands on internationally produced _Felix Felicis_ and was selling it for the right price, Shacklebolt informed Alastor Moody, just like Narcissa had expected him to.

In these troubled times, the luck potion was worth so much more than its weight in gold. Aunt Cassiopeia hadn't forgotten to point out to Shacklebolt that she had other prospective buyers. She suggested that she preferred honest, law-abiding wizards unlikely to rob her. She'd claimed that things had gotten too _messy _for her liking, and indeed, with her house ashes, her desire to leave England was no lie. Besides, it made sense for her to approach the young auror : Shacklebolt was rich and had a very ill great-uncle.

When Fabian and Gideon Prewett came to intercept Cassiopeia's 'parcel', Bellatrix and the Lestranges were waiting.

* * *

"Amber pendants were once widespread magic channelers," Ollivanders was saying. "Amber grows too attuned to its wearer's magic : it becomes a vulgar inert jewel in anyone else's hands. Wands made its use obsolete. "

"We can't find any good tomes on antique jewelry-smithing," Luna added. "Garrick is very frustrated with Antigonus for not sharing."

Following Luna's gaze, Narcissa finally noticed the portrait in the gloom._ Antigonus of Syria. _A fat man in his nineties with black curls and a prominent nose. He stood in silk-and-cotton oriental robes, surrounded by towering trees. Thick chunks of amber pearled from the trunks.

_This was Malfoy Manor!_ Misled by the lighting and the rooms' contents, Narcissa had failed to recognize the first floor's guest wing, transformed into a series of workshops.

"Master Antigonus," she exclaimed. The antique portrait was the proud plunder of one of Lucius' ancestors. Depending on the day, the mage claimed to be Syrian, Phoenician or Greek and it wasn't clear if he had been a contemporary of Alexander the Great or of Pompey of Rome. In any case, he was by far the oldest resident of the Manor.

The master jeweler abandoned his pretense of deep slumber upon recognizing her voice. "You must find another wall for me, dear, this journeyman keeps pestering me."

Ollivanders' bushy eyebrows twitched at being called _journeyman._

Amused, Narcissa kept her expression smooth. "You devoted your life to your craft, why now refuse to take this opportunity to revive it? Master Ollivanders is peerless among wandmakers, I would think you'd be happy to have him admit his ancestors were wrong to hold other types of magic channelers in contempt."

"_Spare_ wands. I do not craft _spares." _But for all his scorn, Antigonus looked mollified already. _"_Amber is a noble material, not some poor man's consolation prize!"

"Not consolation," Narcissa corrected softly. "Wand theft became a problem during the last war. Too many lost their freedom. But you are right, Master. Calling them _spares_ does make them sound dreadfully cheap. Would you consent to giving them your name? _Antigonus pendants_ has a certain ring to it. "

Perhaps the real man would have been less vulnerable to blatant flattery, but few portraits enjoyed keeping secrets. No doubt Antigonus would have caved in to Ollivanders' demands after a few more weeks of badgering.

The portrait crossed his arms. "Listen carefully, wandmaker. Even Apama, my most talented apprentice, didn't have the presumption to craft her own pendants until she'd had two years of instruction."

Being treated like a student had to rankle, but Ollivanders mustered a graceful bow of his head. Parchments and self-writing quills appeared before him as Antigonus launched into a rambling introduction.

Out of the portrait's hearing range, Luna cocked her head to her side. "Is Master Antigonus particularly vain, or will that work with all of them?"

"It doesn't hurt to try. Has Adiona shared her tales of pseudo-dragons with you?"

Luna beamed. "Yes! Daddy's organizing an expedition. I did promise Garrick I'll stay a few months first. Neville will be helping us select the right plants to-."

A _pop_ near Narcissa's knees interrupted them.

A sour-looking Kreacher stared up at Narcissa. "Master Reggie bei- is being disrespected. You must intervene. Mistress Andromeda is at the Ministry, I cannot pop to her."

Narcissa blinked at the elf, struck by a sudden thought. She turned back to Luna and Ollivanders. The wandmaker had left an illusion of himself in front of the oblivious painting. Next to it, the self-writing quill had already darkened almost two feet of parchment.

"Have you tried house elf claws?"

Two pairs of eyes stared back at her.

"They are loyal and their magic very adaptable." House-elves had been the solution to half their recent problems. Dismissing them still would be idiotic.

Ollivanders hummed thoughtfully. "Cores using parts of a sentient being are highly volatile. But that is not to say it's not worth testing." He focused back on her. "Could your husband organize exports from Mauritania? Some exotic components look promising."

There was challenge in his posture. _You owe me_, it said.

"That shouldn't be too difficult to arrange." Lucius would be _thrilled_. He'd ship Ollivanders magical African woods at a financial loss just to get the satisfaction of having the Order of the Phoenix see his name on _The Prophet's_ front page.

"Kre- my nails can make Master Reggie a working wand?" Kreacher cut in, his rasping voice unusually intent.

"Perhaps..." Ollivanders allowed after a pause. "A squib's magic is unattractive to a regular wand, but a wand which would be less proud and particular... Yes, for weaker magics, perhaps."

Rapid snapping sounds followed those words. Luna crouched next to Kreacher so he could hand her a fistful of long nail clippings.

* * *

Kreacher apparated Narcissa in Saint Mungo's lobby and all but dragged her to a side room where a frustrated-looking Regulus and a woman bundled in an overlarge orange winter cloak were being stared down by a broad-shouldered employee that couldn't be older than thirty.

"Is there a problem?" Narcissa asked mildly.

The wizard (medi-wizard?) greeted her with an incredulous stare. "Merlin! Am I to get the _I'm well connected, beware! _speech?"

"Mr. Carmichel," Regulus said pointedly, "has nothing to do with hiring or hospital administration but he won't let us see anyone who is."

"A squib cannot work here. Our patients need -"

"Experience in dealing with trauma," the woman next Regulus snapped. "Regulus worked for over ten years with abandoned children and domestic abuse victims. You don't need _magic_ to understand how people work and your patients are getting enough potions shoved down their throats as it is."

"Yes, criticizing our care will make you quite popular here, Ms. Crockford."

Narcissa finally understood. "You want to work here," she confirmed with Regulus.

"Alright, I have things to do," Carmichel interrupted.

"Of course you do, so graceful of you to even deign speak to a squib and a hedge witch."

The self-styled _hedge witch_ had the diplomacy skills of a hippogryff. Her hair was shaved on the sides and dyed a deep purple. The swirls of warm colors tattooed on the back of her hands made Narcissa suspect she wasn't anyone Narcissa would even have _accidentally_ run into a few years ago. But the woman had come in support of Reggie, so Narcissa kept her critical thoughts off her expression.

"Requiring three NEWTs doesn't seem _unreasonable_. We have standards. We might just as well hire muggles otherwise."

"You know full well that few kids who don't attend Hogwarts go beyond their OWLs," Crockford said, "and that's because of expensive and overbooked tutors, not because they're lazy or incompetent."

Narcissa was losing patience. "Come," she decided, side-stepping Carmichel to the stair-case leading up to the administrative wing. "Don't let us keep you, Mr. Carmichel."

"Mrs. Malfoy! You can't -"

"Dear me, I'm afraid we are trespassing," Narcissa said airily, her back now to him. "You should call the aurors."

"Very much like a Death Eater's wife to care nothing for rules or law."

Narcissa didn't turn back. Some people just weren't worth her time.

* * *

Regulus grinned at her as they hurried up the stairs. "I hope you know where you are going, Cousin."

Well, she had a _vague_ idea. Assuming the place hadn't changed too much in the last twenty years, the three of them should be reaching -

"Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa turned. Thin and moving with an efficient grace, the young Asian woman must have been beautiful before that ghastly curse scar had twisted the whole right side of her face. It had to be a war wound, and one worn proudly: any witch carrying a healer's sash, even a trainee's one, could cast a decent glamour charm.

"Good morning. We're looking for someone who has worked in the new trauma ward and who can be more practical about hiring needs than '_it must be someone with three NEWTs_.', Ms -"

"Chang. Cho Chang." The young mediwitch-in-training frowned. "We did set up a magical filter on applications: too many unqualified people wanted to feel like heroes. You know experienced mind healers with no NEWTs?"

Narcissa detected no sarcasm, only weary hope. She let Regulus speak.

"Aurors," a voice suddenly announced. "Trespassers, display your hands or you will be disarmed." Two uniformed witches had flooed in less than ten yards away from them.

"Black's staying with me, Glenda," Chang called. "Let's not pretend a squib is a danger." A hospital elf hovered nearby, keeping an eye on Kreacher, who had all but latched to Regulus' leg.

The younger of the two aurors, a red-head in her mid-twenties, shrugged after a moment's hesitation. "Ladies, please follow us. Either surrender your wands or consent to a temporary trace. You will be following us to the Ministry."

"We'll be fine with you escorting us outside," Narcissa said.

"Mrs. Malfoy, don't tell me how to do my job. You will be free to go once we'll have made sure that you are no danger to Saint Mungo's, its patients or its staff."

Narcissa blinked. No, those girls couldn't possibly believe Narcissa was _truly_ a menace. Both aurors looked decidedly... _gleeful _to arrest her. It seemed they would waste as much of her time as they could lawfully get away with.

"The trace," Crockford interrupted, looking both resigned, and, infuriatingly, slightly amused by Narcissa's stony expression.

Glenda gawked at the misshapen length of wood in Narcissa's hand. "Who made _that_?"

"Mr. Ollivanders," Narcissa frostily replied. It would be _smart_ to be friendly, but as she let herself be paraded through a maze of corridors to what had to be the farthest floo exit in the building, just so the whole of Saint Mungo's could have its daily dose of gossip, Narcissa found herself regretting the days nobody would have _dared_.

* * *

The auror captain waiting for them on the other side of the floo was no stranger. Despite her charmed robes, Narcissa suddenly felt chilled.

In the windowless room, empty except for the chimney and a closed door, Cyrus Diggory, grandfather to the late Cedric Diggory, stared down at her.

"Your kind seems unable to understand the law applies to them... Malfoy, haven't we been lenient? Why must you and your husband constantly draw attention to yourselves?" His voice was low, his expression almost mild, but hate burned in his eyes. "Procedures when the detained have a history of Death Eater associations are straightforward. You will take a potion that will dispel any mind-altering charms and alert us to any memory modifications you might have incurred. Then, you will submit to an interrogation under Veritaserum."

_What_? "I refuse. You cannot proceed to an interrogation unless I am standing trial."

"The Malfoy family has been stripped of their Wizengamot privileges. You are ordinary wizarding citizen now. A full trial is not required for interrogating Death Eaters." He eyed her like one would a hound who had bitten one person too many. "I heard of your recent attack. A witch like you must be plotting revenge. It's my job to make sure you don't hurt any more people."

Narcissa's fingers were white on her wand. _I dare you_, Diggory's eyes said. He was a handsome man, tall and broad-chested with a head full of curly white-blonde hair. He paced around her, coiled like an adder poised to strike.

"Since I'm nobody and irrelevant, may I leave, Auror?" Crockford intervened. The witch pulled a pen from her washed-out orange coat and scribbled something on the back of a crumpled shopping receipt.

Diggory arched his brows as he read. His lips quirked with sudden mirth. He turned back to Narcissa. "What is this woman's first name?"

Narcissa blinked. "We haven't been introduced," she admitted.

Diggory barked a laugh. "No, not your kind of person, is she? Glenda, sort out the matter with Ms. Crockford." The fleeting warmth his voice held as he spoke to his aurors, vanished as soon as he was alone with Narcissa. "You knew _he_ was back long before any of us did. Did you know the Triwizard Tournament was bait? Did your husband tell you, before his master summoned him next to my grandson's dead body? How many others died because of you? Or because you kept silent? No more dirty little secrets, Madam Malfoy."

Narcissa frantically considered her options. Anywhere else, she would have cast her strongest voice-amplifying charm and called for help, but the chance the room wasn't spelled for privacy was as low as it not being warded against conjurations. Unlike when she'd been attacked at Hogwarts, she wasn't afraid for her _life_, but if Diggory asked the wrong questions... Unbidden she thought of Harry. Of Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Green eyes stared at her in disgust. She bit hard on her teeth. _She was a teacher now! She was doing her best!_ She worked with Diggory's son, Cedric's own _father_. _This man had no right!_

Diggory stared down at her. "Raise your wand against me, and you will have attacked a senior auror. You will not be able to avoid a trial then. I could be blamed for misconduct, but I will have my answers." He smiled without his eyes. "Not that you have anything to fear. You're a good person. _Harry Potter _says so."

Narcissa was a decent occlumens, enough to deflect an average mental incursion and to keep her wits under a truth-compulsion. She could muster some control over her wording, even under Veritaserum, but she would be almost helpless against an experienced interrogator.

"I had nothing to do with your grandson's death," she said truthfully as the older man removed a small opaque vial from his robes.

The trace on her wand would record her spell use, so the only spells she could use were those who had never been transcribed in any book or tome.

Diggory frowned as she cloaked herself in the notice-me-not spell of her youth. He soon strode to the door, but to her distress, it did not open as he pulled the handle. Diggory muttered a curse under his breath and knocked, hard.

Instead of swinging open, the door partially changed texture : a transparent window appeared. "Boss, you're in the room with Narcissa Malfoy. You want to interrogate her. She just used a spell. Unknown, self-targeted. I'm calling a Code 4."

Not knowing what to expect, Narcissa wordlessly levitated herself off the floor and cast a protective shield. When she took a breath, she realized she should have cast a bubble-head charm instead. Her knees buckled as the choking gas filled her lungs. Her hold over her spells slipped. With her last conscious thoughts, she transfigured her mouth into skin. Aunt Walburga's creation (or perhaps Walburga's grandmother's. Narcissa had never bothered to research when the Blacks' streak of awful parenting had begun), a blood-locked curse, that could only be dispelled by kin.

Of course, any expert dark mage would soon figure out that Narcissa's own blood would dispel the curse, but Diggory was Light to the core. He would not think of it.

Surely not.

* * *

**Author's note.**

Narcissa's past is catching up with her and she'll have to deal with her demons to be able to move forward.

My take is that for many of the people Narcissa has hurt personally (or who believe she's hurt them personally), the fact she's done good deeds and has become a better person does not matter all that much (and that's assuming people trust that she is indeed a better person and not just an opportunist who knows how to navigate the post-war society. After all, she didn't change until she had to.) From Diggory's POV, he's the wronged party and Narcissa is a criminal who has avoided a proper trial. He believes he's entitled to closure, just like Narcissa believes she deserves to be judged by her current actions.


End file.
